


The Very Prison Walls Suddenly Seemed To Reel

by Hekate1308



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Retelling, The Thursdays adopt Morse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-08-20 13:57:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 38,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: The last thing Fred Thursday expected during the Mary Tremlett case was to make the acquaintance of a very strange young man. AU.





	1. He Did Not Wear His Scarlet Coat

**Author's Note:**

> So I wasn't going to post this but - if you can believe it - I turned 30 today!!!! So I wanted to mark the occasion. Hope you like this idea, will do my best to update regularly!

The Mary Tremlett case was going nowhere.

Fred had dealt with missing children before. Normally, when it came to young girls of Mary’s age, they were runaways and returned home of their own volition within days.

He had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t going to happen.

After another morning spent uselessly listening to Lott’s theories, he decided to check out her room once more. Maybe they had overlooked something.

Mr. Tremlett and Mary’s sister readily agreed to let him have another look. They must be sick with worry; Fred didn’t even want to imagine what he’d have done if it had been their Joan who’d gone missing.

The first time he had been here, he had only given the books on Mary’s nightstand a quick leaf through; now, though, he carefully examined them and realized they were actually books of poetry. That in itself was probably nothing strange; young girls liked poetry; but weren’t they a bit out of her prize range, now that he thought about it?

Neither the father nor the sister could tell him where Mary had got the books from. Fred decided that a very small trace was better than nothing and took them with him.

As he did, a page of last week’s paper landed on the floor. He picked it up and realized it was the crosswords.

Hm. Strange. Only two clues had been filled. Fred himself was no crosswords aficionado but he assumed that people who did like them usually did their best to figure out all the clues.

He decided it was strange enough to take with him as well, even though he had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.

* * *

He was once more going through the books when PC Strange knocked on his door. He was new at the station, and so far, Fred had gotten the impression of a dependable, if not very creative, policeman. “Come in.”

“Sir, nothing new from the cadets.” They’d brought in a few to make the search easier. Not that that had ever yielded results, as far as Fred remembered.

“From me neither, I am afraid” he sighed, putting down the book.

Strange had seen the crosswords and was frowning at it. “What’s that, sir?”

“Apparently she decided to fill it out but only knew two answers. It’s probably nothing.”

Later, he would think that there had been something very much like guilt in Strange’s eyes as he bid him goodbye, but maybe that was just hindsight. 

Strange came back an hour later, looking excited. “I’m sorry sir, but I’ve had an idea. I know it sounds weird but –“

“Out with it, man. We might as well try anything at this point.”

“Well, sir, it’s about the crosswords. Every week, there are two clues – one that’s a number, and one that’s a location. I was thinking, if Mary Tremlett only filled out those two…”

“You think she might have been meeting someone in…” Fred looked down at the page again. “Bagley Wood?”

It did sound rather eccentric – certainly not like anything he would have expected of Strange – but maybe… “Let’s go talk to Lott.”

* * *

As Fred had expected, Lott was incredulous – until the moment the news of the body found in Bagley Wood came in.

Fred already knew that it was Mary Tremlett, even as he was hoping that it wasn’t. He could feel it in his bones.

She looked even younger than she had been, lying naked on the ground. Fred balled his hands into fists. If he got the one who had…

Doctor DeBryn was soon done with his preliminary autopsy, and they returned to the nick, Lott giving Strange something of a compliment when he told him “One of the good ones after all, hey, Constable?”

This time, he wasn’t mistaken.

Strange definitely looked guilty.

A few minutes later, he knocked on his door again. “Sorry, sir?”

“Yes?”

“I – the tip with the – the crosswords –“ Strange was clearly struggling between taking credit for the idea himself or telling the truth, and the later won out, earning him a little more of Fred’s respect in the process. “It didn’t come from me. There’s this fellow down by the canal… you know, where the homeless like to squat in the trailers.”

Fred nodded; he knew the place. It was one of the more unsavoury parts of town.

“Like a said, there’s a fellow. Calls himself Morse.”

It wasn’t even one of then stranger names they often gave themselves.

“Is a bit skittish, but never makes any problems. If you ask me, sir, he’s definitely seen a cell from the inside; he’s got that look around his eyes.”

Fred nodded again, wondering when the crosswords would come into play.

“Anyway, found him a couple of months back dumpster diving – for the paper, would you believe that. Has a thing for crosswords, you see. Ever since then, when a paper comes to hand and I’m on my beat, I give it to him – he’s one of the good sort.”

It was something Strange would do, Fred reflected, getting to know those on his beat, whether they were homeless or not.

“So when I saw what you were looking at I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask. Always struck me as a rather sharp fellow, Morse. More the type you’d expect to go to college than squat in a trailer.”

That wasn’t as surprising as he thought. Fred knew many clever criminals. “Sounds like I should have a talk with him.”

Strange nodded. “Just tell him I sent you, sir. Like I said, seems to me like he’s had his experiences with the police, and they weren’t necessary good ones.”

* * *

Fred walked slowly down the row of trailers. As usual when someone who didn’t belong showed up, everyone had disappeared, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The trailer Strange had described looked a little biter than then others. That was not to say it wasn’t dilapidated and dirty; but it had a certain air to it, as if someone had been trying his outmost to make it inhabitable.

To Fred’s surprise, the door opened and a boy came out. He had a black eye, but was smiling. “Thanks, Morse.”

“You’re welcome, Tommy” a voice that would indeed not have sounded out of place in an Oxford college answered.

Then the boy saw Fred, glanced back at the door, hesitated, then apparently decided the safest bet was to disappear as quickly as possible.

Fred stepped up to the trailer as an arm clad in a brown sweater reached out. “Excuse me – Mr. Morse, is it?”

The face that peered at him suspiciously through the semi-darkness of the trailer was younger than Fred had expected, and a lot thinner. “Yes?”

“DI Fred Thursday, Oxford City Police.”

His eyes hardened. “You will find that there is no law preventing me from staying here, Inspector. If you wish to interfere, you might go and talk to Tommy’s family – his father hits him on a regular basis.”

Fred made a mental note to check it out later. “That is not why I am here, Mr. Morse. PC Strange sent me.”

The expression on his face softened almost imperceptibly. He wasn’t like the hardened criminals Fred knew so well then, even if he had been in jail; he wasn’t lost to all human feelings.

“Constable Strange has been very… _kind_ to me.” The way he pronounced the word suggested he didn’t meet with kindness often.

“And I promise he didn’t mean to get you into trouble. It’s about the crosswords.”

Morse stepped out into the light. Both the sweater and the trousers he was wearing had seen better days, but he obviously made an effort to stay clean. He studied Fred’s face, then said, rather sadly, “You found her, then.”

“Yes” he confirmed.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

And it was just one of those things people said – no, Fred could tell the lad actually meant it. It was at this moment that any small trace of suspicion he might have harboured went up in smoke. It had been unlikely from the start that he was involved, anyway; why would he tell Strange where to find Mary Tremlett if he was?

“So you just remembered that there’s a clue for a location and a time every week?”

Morse shrugged. “I don’t have much to do. Focusing on crosswords is better than…” he trailed off.

Strange had most definitely been right. Fred knew that expression. “What were you in for, then?” After a moment, he added, “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Morse?”

“Just Morse is enough.” He looked away, then back at Fred, a new determination in his eyes as he answered as confidently as he could, “Armed robbery.”

Fred almost laughed. He had never seen someone who looked less like a robber in his life, and he should know. But at the same time, he was also aware that criminals often didn’t look like the average guy imagined they did.

Still, there was something so… fragile about Morse. Something that suggested that, if he was ever on the end of a gun during an armed robbery, it would most definitely be the receiving one and not the other way around.

“How long?”

Morse looked at him, his eyes wide and empty. Fred knew that stare, too. One saw it on fellows who’d been in their cells for too long and had had nothing to do but gaze at the walls surrounding them all day. “Five years. I served my time.”

Dear God, he must have been a mere child when he’d been sent to prison. “I see.”

Morse shrugged, a helpless, rather pathetic gesture, and Fred was surprised at the surge of protectiveness that swelled in his chest. Small wonder Strange was ready to go around picking up newspapers for the lad.

“Thank you for the tip, anyway. We probably wouldn’t have found her otherwise.”

“I just wanted to help Constable Strange. Since I got out, he’s been the only one –“ Morse abruptly stopped talking, apparently not wishing to divulge further information.

“Do you need anything?” Fred found himself saying.

To his surprise, something like pride flashed across Morse’s face and he stood up straight. “No, thank you. I don’t need much in my posthumous existence, and what I do, I have.”

“You look rather alive to me.”

He smiled a joyless smile. “They hail me as one living, but don't they know, that I have died of late years, untombed although?”

When he saw Fred’s curious glance, he added, “Thomas Hardy.”

A convicted robber who helped out children who had bad parents, gave tips to a PC for no other reason than he’d been nice to him and who quoted Thomas Hardy. It seemed incredibly unlikely, but if there ever happened to be such a robber, he would live in Oxford.

Still, he reflected as he returned to the station, what a strange young man.

And a very lonely one, too. He had seen it in his eyes.

When Strange came into the office to hand him a file, he began, “I spoke to Morse. Seems rather unique.”

“He is, sir.”

“Did he ever tell you why he was in prison?”

Strange shook his head. “I didn’t ask, and he isn’t one to volunteer that information.”

“Armed robbery. Did five years for it.”

Strange’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t seem the type – if you’ll forgive me, sir.”

“No, he doesn’t” Fred said, wondering if perhaps…

Half an hour later, decision made, he went through their old files.

There it was.

_Morse, Endeavour. _

Endeavour? As if he wasn’t eccentric enough without such a name.

Back in his office, he felt strangely reluctant to open the file and realized that he was worried it would contain some solid proof of Morse’s guilt after all.

Well. There was nothing to it; Fred had chosen to look his case up, and he would. Shaking his head at himself, he flipped the cover and started reading.


	2. For Blood And Wine Are Red

Fred closed the file and stared at Morse’s name.

This was bad.

He had half-expected to read that there had been witnesses, a clear identification, and that he would have to live with the fact that he’d fallen for Morse’s seemingly innocent demeanour; but instead…

Why hadn’t he heard of the case? It had been one of Lott’s, but that didn’t mean much. Coppers liked to gossip, always had, and since this must have looked like a big success for Lott at the time…

He checked the date of the robbery. July 10, 1959. They’d been on holiday with the children somewhere around that time, hadn’t they? That would explain it.

A masked robber had entered the Cowley Bank – where Joan now worked – and had made off with quite a bit of cash. As far as Fred could tell, they had had nothing to go on but a few witnesses claiming that he sounded “posh”. Lott, with the chip on his shoulder, had then promptly decided that this, together with the impression of a few of the other clients that it had been a rather young man, meant that it had to have been a college student. And there happened to be one on Lonsdale reading Greats, one who his fellow students and the porter described as a _loner_ and _odd_…

Try as he might, Fred couldn’t find a single other reason why he had ever started to suspect Morse.

There was one other piece of evidence, though.

A retracted confession.

Fred knew all about Lott’s methods, of course. And this seemed to be one of his… more extreme cases.

Reading between the lines, Morse had been held for questioning for three days, after which he had confessed; he had almost immediately rescinded this confession though, claiming that he had been beaten, starved, and not allowed to sleep.

Knowing Lott, it was all too possible. But of course no one had believed him.

And Morse, who’d had a scholarship, who had been reading Greats with all the probability of a graduating with honours and a cosy place at college, had been sent to jail for five years.

According to the file, his mother was dead; and it was probable that his father didn’t want to have anything to do with him, since he was squatting and clearly very alone – Strange certainly hadn’t mentioned that he had made any friends among the homeless.

Deep down, Fred had always felt that eventually, there would come a day when he could no longer look away, no matter whether Crisp protected Lott or not. A day when he’d learn something so hideous, something that went so very much against everything he believed, that he would have to act.

It seemed like the day had come.

He’d still have to balk to Morse, of course; like him or not, Lott was still a policeman, and everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt; but he was rather sure how that talk would end.

“Sir?” It was Constable Strange. “Doctor DeBryn says he’s about to do the autopsy.”

He nodded, then carefully locked up the file in his desk. The last thing he needed was Lott finding out about what he was doing.

* * *

At least the bastard hadn’t touched her, Fred thought after the autopsy, but it wasn’t much of a consolation, thinking about how her father and sister had reacted to the news.

He’d bought himself a pint and was slowly sipping it while trying to figure out how to approach Morse. There was every reason to think that he didn’t really trust coppers, not anymore; and who could blame him.

But he had to talk to him. And he swore by God, if there was a way to fix this… he would.

* * *

Everyone at the nick had noticed his bad mood, so they left him alone; he knew he should have been focusing on the Mary Tremlett case, but found himself unable to.

Instead, he was soon walking down the row of trailers to Morse’s again, only to stumble upon Strange; he heard them before he saw them.

First, Morse’s voice, embarrassed, rather thick with emotion. “Really, Constable, there is no need –“

“Come on, matey”. Strange, embarrassed as well, if a little bit more confident. “You really helped me out. The Old Man – he might know you were the one who came up with it, but he still’s still looking at me with more respect now because I told him the truth. That’s worth a lot at the station.”

“I don’t want your money, Constable.” It was said quietly, desperately.

“Then don’t think of it as being paid. Think of it as a gift from a friend.”

Silence.

That was just the thing about Jim Strange, Thursday thought. When it came down to it, he was a decent fellow.

Eventually, to his relief, Morse said, “Thank you.”

“I’m the one thanking you here, matey. I won’t forget it, believe me.”

Fred slipped into the shadows between two uninhabited trailers to allow Strange to ho past.

He was about to make sure he was out of earshot when Morse called out, “He’s gone now.”

Of course. Prison. He’d learned to jump at every shadow, most likely.

He still looked surprised when Fred emerged. “Inspector Thursday?”

“Good afternoon, Morse.” He hesitated for a moment, then decided to grab the bull by the horns. “I read your file.”

Morse immediately took a step back.

“No – I cam here to hear your side of the story.”

“No one has ever wanted to hear about that.” Fred wasn’t surprised at the bitterness in his voice.

“Well, not everyone knows DS Lott as well as I do.” In the next moment, he cursed himself when Morse flinched.

“Want to make charges against him stick for once, then?” he asked, sounding hostile. “I’ll probably end up a good piece of evidence, is that it?”

“No” he replied. “Alright, I want him out of the station” he conceded. “have for a long time. I know he takes bribes, but can’t do anything against it. Crisp – our boss – is holding his hand over him. But this is about more than that. What happened to you – it wasn’t fair.”

Unexpectedly, Morse laughed. “_Fair_? I was getting my doctorate, I had a fiancée – and just because someone decided they needed a scapegoat, I lost everything. I have long stopped wondering about justice.”

“Someone should.”

“And you have decided that someone should be you?”

Fred told himself to stay calm; if he’d been in Morse’s shoes, he probably wouldn’t have believed him, either. “Look, why don’t we go to a pub? Buy you a pint.”

Morse blinked, as if he’d never expected to be invited anywhere again. But then, he definitely didn’t look like your average homeless person – he might not have worn a coat, but Fred bet they could pass him off for – well –

“You want to buy me a drink?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. Why not?”

Morse opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he acquiesced. “Alright.”

And so they ended up in a pub. When Fred brought their pints over, Morse was looking around himself as if remembering what it was like to just sit and have a drink with someone. “There you go” he said, putting the glass down in front of him.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a while, then he asked, “How did you end up in that trailer?” After a pause he added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Morse looked at him, then shrugged. “I didn’t have anywhere to go. My father had made it very clear that I was never to contact him or my sister again, and Susan…” an expression of pain flashed across his face but was gone in an instant. “Her mother was probably relieved when I got arrested. She never liked me.”

“My Win’s father tried to threaten me too when we first started going out” Fred said for lack of anything else to say and it was only when he saw Morse’s baffled face that he realized he was in no way used to small talk anymore. “My father-in-law” he added by way of explanation.

Morse nodded shyly.

Really, just sitting across from him, Fred would have been ready to swear that he was innocent. God only knew why Lott had focused on him. Probably because it had been the easiest way. “So” he began quietly, “Would you tell me what happened?”

Morse needed a while to respond. Then, he slowly and carefully told his story, now and then pausing, as if trying to remember everything. Really, he would have made a great witness.

“I – I was reading Greats at Lonsdale. I know that people thought I was weird – in a way, they always have, so I wasn’t bothered by it. I mostly kept to myself, made a few friends though. And of course I met Susan one day in town. We got engaged, and I knew her mother wasn’t happy about it, but I thought, with time… And then one day someone knocked on my door. He said he was a police officer, and that there had been a bank robbery. I hadn’t even heard about it. I was busy studying.”

He stopped talking and looked at Fred without seeing him. No, he was seeing something else, a different scene with another policeman that had taken place six years ago. “I –“ he was clearly struggling.

“Take your time” Fred said, “There is no reason to rush.”

He took a deep breath, then nodded, looking grateful. “I told him I knew nothing about it. He said I had to. I didn’t even realize at first that I was a suspect – I thought someone had made a mistake and they believed I was a witness. And then he said I had to go to the station with him.” He was silent. “I never saw my rooms at Lonsdale again after that.”

He looked down at the table, his hands clenching into fists.

“Take your time” Fred repeated himself.

Morse took another deep breath, and when he looked up, Fred swallowed. He had often looked into the eye of convicts; but none of them had ever been so empty.

He understood then that in order to survive, Morse had somehow learned how to feel nothing when threatening to become overwhelmed.

“They put me in a cell” he continued; his voice sounded flat and monotone. “At first, I thought this would all blow over soon – that it had to be a misunderstanding – and the Lott he – he got me into an interrogation room and he locked the door and – and –“ he swallowed and closed his eyes.

“I understand” Fred said simply. Lott was well-known for getting confessions and convictions through his fists and feet.

“They wouldn’t let me eat, or sleep. I – I lost track of time because they always hung some rags over the windows when they brought me in. Eventually I just told them what they wanted to hear. Anything to make them stop.”

An innocent young boy, just living his life, hoping to get his degree and marry the woman he loved. And Lott had abused and beaten him and starved him into submission. Now it was Fred who had to take the deep breath.

Morse blinked and seemed to return from far away. “I have never told anyone about this – not since I rescinded my confession and they laughed in my face. Why am I telling you, of all people? And why now?”

_Because_, Fred thought, _you needed to talk to someone about what’s happened to you, lad, and instead you ran and hid after they released. It’s understandable, but it’s not the thing to do, not at all. You’ve buried yourself into a burrow away from everyone, and you think this is the only way you can find peace. But that’s not going to work. You need people for that, people who care, people who let you know you are not alone, even after everything that you have been through. _

He didn’t voice his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for this to take longer but then I rewatched the Pilot (as you do) and realized anything but an instantenous connection was just impossible when it came to those two. Hope you're still enjoying this, and thank you for all your kind birthday wishes!


	3. And Blood And Wine Were On His Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized this is just going to remind you automatically at the end of every chapter that it was my birthday this week. Lol. well, nothing wrong with a birthday month, right, my pretties? Enjoy!

Morse wouldn’t leave his thoughts the entire afternoon. A gifted young man, ripped away from everything he knew and loved, and now –

He’d looked so lost, telling Fred about prison. Completely isolated from everyone and convinced there was nothing he could do about it.

And he _was_ innocent.

Fred knew that he probably shouldn’t have believed a convicted felon so easily; but he knew Lott; and more than that –

There was just something about Morse, wasn’t there? After all, Strange hadn’t had to get to know him. Morse kept to himself and caused no trouble.

That reminded him.

Deciding he deserved a reward for being honest about where he’d gotten the crosswords idea from, he called the Constable into his office. “There’s a family living near the canal. Morse says the father beats his son regularly. Look what you can do, alright?”

Strange nodded, then hesitated. “Sir, it’s just –“

When he didn’t continue, Thursday asked, “What?”

“I – Morse is a bit of a character, sir, but I wouldn’t want him to come to harm. And I don’t think he’s good with – you know, people.”

Small wonder, considering what people had done to him.

Still, both Fred and Morse had been right – Strange was a decent fellow. “Don’t worry. I don’t want him to come to any harm, either.”

Fred wondered if he should tell Strange about his suspicions – but he wasn’t sure the young constable would then be able to meet Lott with the indifference he feared would already be difficult enough to maintain for Fred himself. Better wait until he found some evidence.

“Oh” he said, pulling out his wallet, “And do buy Morse a newspaper. Maybe he*’ll find something else in the crosswords.”

And if not, he’d at least have something to do in that trailer, all on his own.

* * *

There was still some tea left, although it wasn’t much. He’d have to find some money to get more. Morse sighed; he’d learned early after his release that it was almost impossible for him to find work, and he didn’t like begging.

Someone knocked on his door.

That didn’t even happen often, and now twice in one day?

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find Constable Strange, really. “Hey, matey.”

“Constable.”

“I was talking to Mr. Cork – told him to better take care of himself and his family.“

So DI Thursday had reacted after all.

Morse found to his bafflement that he had actually expected something like this to happen.

He’d thought he’d outgrown the habit of trusting people.

“Anyway, found this, thought you might like it”. Strange handed him a copy of the _Oxford Times_ – they both pretended not to realize that it looked far too crisp and new to have been picked up from the street.

“Thank you.”

Strange shuffled his feet. “Listen, I know you probably – but you can trust the Old Man, alright? DI Thursday. He’s one of the good ones.”

Morse thought so too, which should have put him on his guard, but didn’t. Apparently, he would never learn. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Strange nodded, then said, “And thanks again for the tip.”

Morse shrugged. “Nothing I could have done with it, was there.”

Strange apparently didn’t know what to reply to that, since he soon afterwards took his leave.

It had been an eventful day – or at least definitely more eventful than Morse had grown used to, ever since he got out of prison.

* * *

The hat stand rule had never been broken. He left his work at the door.

But tonight, Fred knew he had to talk to Win about what he had learned.

Because deep down, he already knew he would do something about it.

And so, after the children had gone to their rooms, he poured them both a drink and told her about Morse.

“That poor boy” were her first words. “And you say he’s got no one who cares for him?”

“Seems like his father broke off all contact when he was arrested, and I don’t think his old college pals are eager to renew the acquaintance.”

“Imagine that, and him being so young, too… and he’s living in a trailer?”

“Squatting, more like. There’s no one there to object to his presence.” And that had probably been all the recommendation Morse needed. According to Strange, he must have been there ever since he got out.

“And you are sure he’s innocent?”

Now came the difficult part. “Yes. You see, Win, it was Lott’s case –“

Despite the fact that they didn’t talk about work, Win knew what he thought of his colleagues; her eyes narrowed. “Ah.”

“Yes. It was bad, Win. They basically beat him into confessing.”

“That poor boy!” she repeated. “And he’d not even finished college yet – he must have been younger than Joan’s now!”

“He was.”

“Then you’ll have to bring him over for dinner, Fred, I insist on it” she said firmly. “He probably hasn’t had a homecooked meal in years.”

That was probably true, but Fred decided not to tell Win that getting Morse into their house would probably be more difficult than luring a fox out of his borrow.

“Does he need anything?” Win began. “Oh, silly me, of course he needs everything. I could drop by –“

“I am not sure that’s a good idea” he said carefully. Not only would he rather not have had Win go to that part of town; he didn’t believe that Morse would welcome what he would at best see as charity and at worst as an intrusion.

How he had come to know him so well already he had no idea. “Not used to people being nice to him, you see” he tried.

Win thought about it. “Fine, I’ll wait until we’ve had him over, then. But still – someone ought to care.”

And it seemed those someones were destined to be him and his Win.

* * *

Morse had slept longer than he usually did, but then, he’d been feeling rather tired. He suspected that had been because he wasn’t used to human interaction anymore.

Not that he’d been any good at it even when he had.

And yet, it had felt surprisingly natural to sit with someone in the pub and talk again.

He’d once or twice played with the idea if contacting some of his olds friends since he’d got out.

He couldn’t deny that the temptation was stronger, today.

* * *

Fred wished he could gave swept that smug smile of Doctor’s Stromming face. What kind of man would just play with a young girl like that? Not to mention that he had the suspicion there had been more going on between them.

She could have been his daughter, for crying out loud.

But at least it brought him to Lonsdale, where he could make enquiries.

He had realized that he had to find out more about Morse.

The name of his professor had been in his file; he’d even been interviewed and, to his credit, had decidedly denied all possibility that Morse could be involved in the robbery.

Fred was about to see if his opinion had changed.

* * *

“Morse?” Professor Lorrimer asked. “I haven’t heard that name in years. I don’t even know if he’s still –“

“He got out after serving his sentence”.

“Good. He always struck me as such a nice young fellow. I still find it very unreliable that he should have something to do with this…” he studied Fred shrewdly. “Why the sudden interest, Inspector, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s helping us with the enquiries in another case. He’s not a suspect” Fred hastened to add. “More a… consultant.”

“He was always very inquisitive” he mused. “But I am afraid there is nothing more I can tell you, Inspector.”

“Did he have any friends at college? Someone who might have known him better?”

“He did hang out with Anthony Donn and his group, but of course they have long since graduated – but wait. Jerome Hogg. He works here, now. They were friends, as far as I know.”

Fred thanked him and went out to find him.

* * *

The young man he introduced himself to seemed rather nervous upon hearing that he worked for the police, but relaxed when he explained to him why he was there.

“Morse! Dear God, Inspector, it’s been years – what can you possibly be investigating his case for now?”

“I am currently reviewing it.”

“Well, in that case” Hogg said, sitting down at his desk and inviting Fred with a gesture to do the same, “I hope you won’t mind me saying that your colleague was a boorish bully. Morse never stood a chance. And I told him, I told him that he would never, but then he insinuated –“

He stopped talking abruptly, making Fred believe there was indeed a reason why Jerome Hogg should be worried about the police – and one he could guess at; he quickly dismissed it as simply not his job to police anyone’s private life.

They said they were going to make it legal soon, anyway.

“I should have stick with him. I should have bene a character witness, anything.” Hogg looked out the window. “But I was too scared to.”

And Fred understood that for the first time, he was talking to someone who had genuinely known and liked Morse back when he’d been a student. Oh, the Professor had spoken about his intellectual abilities, but hadn’t said anything truly striking about Morse.

His impression was strengthened when Hogg turned to him and asked, “Have you seen him, Inspector? How is he doing?”

“He’s – he’s found accommodation for himself” Fred replied, unsure if Morse would have wanted anyone from his old life to know where he was to be found.

“Good. That’s good.” Hogg looked at him. “I am sorry I can’t be of more help, Inspector. All I know is that Morse would never have robbed a bank. He was busy with his studies, and he wanted to marry this girl he had met in town. He simply wasn’t the type.”

Fred agreed with him there. “Thank you for your time, anyway.”

When he reached the door, Hogg called out to him. “inspector?”

He turned around.

“When you see Morse, would you tell him that I am glad he is out of prison and that, if he should need anything, he can always come to me?”

It was a futile offer, as they both knew; and yet Fred appreciated that someone wanted to do something for the lad. “Of course, Mr. Hogg.”

He nodded.

* * *

This hadn’t taught him anything new, Fred reflected, apart from the fact that no one who had known Morse had believed in his guilt. And yet they had all eventually settled down and left him in prison, because of far, or apathy, or maybe just laziness.

Small wonder that he’d believed the entire world had turned against him.

* * *

He didn’t quite know why he made the detour to Morse’s trailer, but here he was.

He knocked.

Morse didn’t look surprised to see him.

“We found out who created the crosswords.”

“You better come in, then, Inspector” he said with a sigh, although of resignation or dejection, Fred couldn’t say.

* * *

He would say this – Morse had done everything in his powers to make the trailer comfortable, even if it was obvious he barely had enough money to get by. The bed, at least, looked somewhat cozy and everything was meticulously clean. Fred supposed he didn’t have the space to clutter.

“Would you like some tea, Inspector?” he asked.

In truth, Fred could have needed a cuppa, but he didn’t want to drink anything the lad had. He could need it himself. “No, thank you.”

Morse nodded, understanding in his eyes. “So who makes the crosswords?”

“Doctor Stromming. He’s a professor at Lonsdale.”

Morse looked away. “I saw him and his wife. She’s an opera singer. Rosalind Calloway.”

Fred was rather glad that he had declined the tea, because by the way Morse snapped to attention, if he’d been holding a kettle, he would have dropped it.


	4. When They Found Him With The Dead

What followed was something that, if Fred had been the one doing it, he would have called an interrogation. How long had Rosalind Calloway been in Oxford? Did she really plan to give up her career now that she was married? Was she (with a blush) as beautiful as the covers of her records suggested?

“I had more than one” he finally said, “before –“

And then he fell silent.

Yes, Fred thought; there were only two times for him now, the _Before_ and the _After_, and After was probably stretching out indefinitely in front of him. “So she’s good?” he asked.

Morse’s eyes widened as he was distracted from his memories, like Fred had hoped he would be. “She is one of the greatest living sopranos!”

“For _you_, lad. For me, she’s just a witness.”

“Just a witness” Morse mumbled under his breath, and yet Fred couldn’t help but smile; it was something to see the lad so animated instead of subdued.

“Yes. Her husband… he knew Mary Tremlett. He’s a professor at…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Morse asked.

“Lonsdale” he finally answered because he couldn’t very well not.

Morse looked away. Then, quietly, “You went to Lonsdale?”

Fred waited until he looked at him, then nodded.

“What for?”

“Like I said – to talk to Doctor Stromming.”

“And ask about me?”

He was sharp, Fred would readily admit that. “Yes.” He hesitated.

“You don’t have to apologize, Inspector” Morse said, standing up, “after all, you are a police officer and I am a convicted felon and you probably figured it’d be safer to hear the whole story –“

He pronounced the words _convicted felon_ as if he’d repeated them to himself so often that they had ceased to make sense.

“I just wanted to… get the picture, so to speak.”

“What for?”

“Like you said, I am a police officer”.

“There’s my file”. He sounded defiant.

“That might have been enough” he lied – he would never have trusted anything Lott said or did, period, he realized that now – “if you hadn’t told me the truth.”

“Why do you think it is the truth?” Morse challenged him.

“Because” he replied simply, “I don’t look at you and see a liar.”

Morse fell quiet. They sat in silence for a few moments then Fred decided to risk it. “Spoke to a friend of yours. Jerome Hogg?”

“Jerome?” he repeated slowly. “Yes, I would have called him a friend.”

Would have called. “He’d still like to be.”

Morse huffed. “I doubt that. He probably only wants to gossip about how he knows this fellow who’s been in jail –“

“I don’t think so” Fred replied carefully. “He seemed concerned for you.”

A pause.

“You could call him” Fred hinted, “Let him know that you’re doing alright.”

Unexpectedly, Morse threw his head back and laughed. “Yes. Alright. I am doing perfectly fine, Not like I am squatting or anything.”

Fred would have welcomed the burst of gaiety only that it became rather obvious in the ensuing moments that, instead of feeling amused, Morse was rather hysterical all of a sudden.

Fred was wondering how to calm him down when Morse stopped laughing and started coughing instead.

“Oy”.

He brought him a glass of water. “Do you have that problem often?”

“No” Morse coughed, then took a sip. “I don’t laugh.”

It was said with such resigned finality. I don’t laugh. As if he never expected to laugh again.

Fred swallowed to get rid of the lump that had appeared in his throat. “You might if you called your friend” he hinted.

Morse looked down at the glass he’d handed him. “I’ll think about it.”

He wouldn’t, Fred knew.

* * *

After some careful deliberation, Fred had decided to try and talk to DCS Crisp. Even though he had his misgivings about him, although he knew he’d been protecting Lott for a while…

But he simply couldn’t imagine that he would be glad or compliant about a miscarriage of justice.

And it _had_ been a miscarriage of justice. Fred had never felt surer of that then now.

Morse was innocent. He was an innocent man who had suffered and was still suffering.

He knocked on the door of his superior officer. “Excuse me sir, do you have a minute?”

* * *

Crisp was neither as open to the idea nor as interested as Fred had hoped. “But I am certain DS Lott carefully reviewed the case, Thursday.”

“Sir I just think –“

“Or are you accusing a fellow officer of misconduct?”

His expression told Fred that he shouldn’t answer that question with a decided _yes_.

He hadn’t realized how close Crisp and Lott were. “No, sir. I am sure it is nothing” he said, resigned to letting the conversation end there but not to never getting Morse rehabilitated. He was not going to leave that lad to rot in his trailer.

He let soon afterwards.

* * *

Fred couldn’t ignore the fact that he had a case to work on, even though confusingly, all he wanted was to take care of Morse.

And so, he went to talk to Stromming again. There was something he was holding back, Fred was sure of it.

* * *

Win knew what Fred had told her. She also knew what she had promised.

But that poor boy wouldn’t leave her head. Fred had said he squatted in a trailer. He probable hadn’t had a homecooked meal since he got out of prison.

And add to all of that that he was innocent – Fred said he was, and she trusted her husband implicitly.

Getting an _actual_ meal to Morse was probably not possible since he most likely didn’t have a stove where he could comfortably warm something up; but Win still packed a bag of tea as well as a thermos bottle full of it, a few sandwiches and biscuits and made her way to the canal.

She hadn’t often been in this part of town, and she really didn’t think she’d been wrong when avoiding it. The few people she passed seemed surprised to see her, and she didn’t much care for the looks of the trailers.

What a place for a young lad who needed some loving care.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out which trailer Morse lived in. It was the only one that looked – well, _looked_ after.

Win hesitated for a moment, then knocked on the door.

The young man – good God, she had known he was, but not how boyish he would look – who opened it was definitely too thin. And the dark shadows around his eyes proved that he hadn’t been sleeping well, and who could blame him.

“Hello” she said brightly. “You must be Morse.”

He blinked at her, obviously confused. “Yes” he finally said.

“I’m Win Thursday. Fred – DI Thursday – my husband – he told me about you and I thought I’d come see you” she continued and stepped in before he could recollect himself and deny her entrance.

“But – “ he came bustling after her. “Thank you, Mrs. Thursday but this is really not – I have nothing to offer you I am afraid –“

“Oh that’s quite alright I took care of it” she said. “Now why don’t you sit down and have a sandwich.”

The place was clean and neat enough, but she thought she might be able to use the space better; years of looking after the children had taught her that.

“But –“

“There you go” she said, putting a sandwich on the makeshift table. “This will do you good.”

“But Mrs. Thursday –“

“It’s Win dear, no reason to be so formal. Now, you just have your sandwich.”

“I –“ apparently he didn’t know what to say so he decided that it would be best to comply and finally settled down to eat.

Meanwhile, Win was doing her best to organize the trailer. Her heart went out to him – there was so little of the small luxuries they allowed themselves. She was doubly glad now that she also had packed a few biscuits.

A sniffle made her turn around. “Morse?”

To his credit, he was trying to eat the sandwich but some tears that had welled up in his eyes made it difficult for him to swallow. “Oh Morse. Is everything alright?” The next moment, she chastised herself for asking. Of course it wasn’t alright; he had gone to prison when he had done nothing wrong and now he couldn’t find a job. He must be living off scraps.

“I’m fine” he said, “I just had to think…” he trailed off for a moment then continued, “of Mum. She died when I was twelve.”

_Oh that poor boy._ “I’m sorry.”

“I – sometimes I think it was better this way” he replied. “She never had to know.,”

Again, she couldn’t help but think about how sad it all was. Automatically she reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He looked so very young.

He blinked up at her, obviously shocked, and she wondered when he had last felt a gentle touch. “Now you finish your sandwich” she said with what she hoped was a comforting smile, “And then we’ll have some tea.”

* * *

Morse, Win soon found, was not bad company. He was a bit downcast, and perhaps a bit depressed and she couldn’t help but feel that he was no longer used to having guests. And who could blame him for that? Certainly not Win.

It was a small wonder that Fred had already grown so fond of him; Morse was so polite and smart. Win thought that, in another life, he might have made a good detective. She could easily picture him working with her husband.

Maybe she’d suggest it after Fred fixed this. For fix it he would. He always did.

She was careful not to mention it though; first of all, she didn’t want to raise his hopes, just in case, and then she didn’t think he liked talking about his time in prison. Again, who could blame him?

When it was time for her to go – or rather when she realized Morse was growing uneasy; he probably spend most of his days alone. So really, him growing nervous was no surprise; and he had been very kind and polite to her all throughout her visit.

He even insisted on accompanying her until they were past that quarter of the city.

He really was a good lad.

As she turned to say goodbye, she decided to seize her chance. “Thank you for having me, Morse. You are going t come to dinner sometime soon, aren’t you?”

He was obviously taken aback. “I – I mean – I couldn’t –“

“How about tomorrow?” she continued, “Let’s say seven?”

And she gave him their address.

“I – I can’t thank you –“

“Oh no Morse, that’s not necessary. I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” She gently touched his hand. “And take care of yourself in the meantime, you hear?”

He quickly left after that; he really didn’t know how to react anymore when someone was nice to him, that poor lad.

Win was glad she had gone after all. Morse had been running very low on tea, and those sandwiches would tide him over until tomorrow.

* * *

Morse went to what he had come to call home with his mind in disarray. Not only hadn’t he talked that much to someone else since – well Mrs. Thursday’s husband had taken him to the pub – but – but –

It had been so long since he’d had a mother, but he supposed this was what it had felt like.

There was a lump in his throat, a lump that only increased when he expected what she had given him and realized that she’d downplayed just how many biscuits and sandwiches there were.

He would have to go and have dinner with them after all. Until now, he had been dwelling on how to get out of the invitation somehow. But he had to, if only to thank them. And then he had to let Mr. and Mrs. Thursday know that, while they were being very kind, there was no reason to throw away their care and money on him of all people. After all, Mrs. Thursday had mentioned their children.

They had better things to do than care for Morse.

He looked down on the sandwiches again and swallowed once more.

It really had been a long time since Mum had passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was going to be a chill story for ONCE and then the Thursdays decided Morse needed some parenting lol. Comments please?^^


	5. The Poor Dead Woman Whom He Loved

When Fred came home that night, feeling about as clueless about the case as about what to do about Morse, he needed a few minutes to realize that Win somehow looked both contrite and proud.

And so, after dinner, with the children in their rooms, he asked, “What is it, pet?”

She gave him a smile that clearly stated she had known she wouldn’t have been able to keep it from him, anyway. “I – I know I said I wouldn’t, but I went to see Morse.”

“You went down to the canal?”

“Of course. I can take care of myself, Fred Thursday.”

“I don’t deny that, but –“

“You were right” she continued briskly, “Such a dear boy, and so _very_ lonely. I invited him to dinner tomorrow, and he accepted.”

Fred wouldn’t have believed him to accept it so easily, but then, very few could resist his Win when she was being insistent.

“So he said he’ll be coming?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Not exactly, but I really had the impression that he meant to.”

Again, if he actually showed up, it would probably be because he hadn’t been able to disappoint Win.

Still, Fred couldn’t be but glad that he would show up. Morse needed a proper meal and some loving care, and if anyone could provide that, it was Win. “Thanks, pet.”

“Don’t worry about it” she squeezed his hand. “Like I said, you were right. He deserves someone to care whether he lives or dies.”

He could only agree with her there.

* * *

Fred walked into the station the next morning only to bump into Lott. “Thursday.”

He wasn’t friendly on his best days, but today he was downright impolite.

Fed immediately guessed what had happened, and cursed his own stupidity at trying to talk to Crisp. He’d been desperate despite knowing better – desperate to make this fast and easy on Morse; but there were no shortcuts.

He had known better, and yet he had done something very stupid.

And Crisp had let Lott know.

Fred would have to be very careful.

“Lott” he said simply “Good morning.”

But he was not going to give him the satisfaction to discuss the matter, so he simply swept past him and went into his office.

After all, Mary Tremlett’s killer was still out there.

* * *

“Sorry, Inspector?” he looked up to find Constable Strange standing in the doorway. “There’s a call come in; apparent suicide by the river. And there’s no DC or DS free…”

He stood up. “Don’t worry I am going to check it out.”

He hadn’t met the new pathologist yet, but found him already at work. “Doctor DeBryn? Inspector Fred Thursday.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A Detective Inspector for an apparent suicide?”

“No one else was available.”

“That explains it”. He held out his hand, realized he was wearing a bloody glove, removed it and shook Fred’s hand. “This seems to be exactly what it looks like, I am afraid.”

“Did he leave a note?”

“No, just his battered remains, Inspector.”

“Any idea of his name?”

“Miles Percival. At least according to this envelope. I found it in his pocket.” Doctor DeBryn handed it to him.

“Thank you Doctor” he said, studying the young man once more.

Good God, he _had_ been very young. Even younger than Morse.

* * *

Miles Percival’s roommate appeared to know nothing, but that wasn’t surprising. Rather, he had seen enough to know that often, suicides happened because people buried their feelings until they couldn’t deal with them anymore.

The sudden and startling realization that Morse might be headed down that exact path made it difficult to concentrate.

It was because, Fred decided, him and Miles Percival had been rather alike; both brilliant but rather lonely students, whose life as they had known it had come to a sudden and tragic end.

The only difference was that Morse could still get out of his trailer.

The question connected to that, of course, was whether he’d care to or not.

Fred didn’t even know how the lad had come to mean so much to him in so short a time. But he swore to himself that he would fix this.

They would fix Morse.

* * *

It had been another frustrating day at the office – he was no closer to finding Mary’s killer, and the cause of Miles Percival’s suicide, if it had been one, was still unclear – and Fred had almost forgotten that Win had invited Morse.

He remembered when he found her and Joan setting the table, however.

“There you are” she kissed him. “Sam should be here any minute now, too.”

“Mum told me all about it” Joan said, her eyes shining with excitement. “We’re now inviting convicts into our house?”

She was most likely only teasing him because he was talking about something to do with his work for once, he told himself. Their Joanie was nothing if not compassionate. “I’d be grateful if you don’t mention it; Morse is a bit reluctant to speak about the subject.”

Unless when it came to Fred and they were sitting at the pub, but he didn’t feel the need to mention it.

She looked shocked. “What do you take me for, Dad?”

He’d been right, then.

“I told them before they went to work, after you’d left” Win said. “I’ve made stew and dumplings; something to get his strength up. He’s much too thin.”

Fred could only agree with her there.

* * *

Morse told himself not to be nervous as he walked up to the Thursdays’ house, but he couldn’t help it. It had been so long since he had been invited to anyone’s home – the last time had been before he was arrested, and even then, _being invited_ would have been a stretch because he’d visited her parents with Susan – and he had probably forgotten what to do when sitting with others at a table, having dinner.

He was clutching the bottle of cheap wine he’d managed to buy like an anchor. It simply wouldn’t have felt right to show up empty-handed. And Constable Strange had given him money, after all. Not much, but Morse wouldn’t have wanted that, anyway.

Only when he had said a gift from a friend had he known that he couldn’t refuse.

He supposed right now, Constable Strange and Inspector Thursday and his wife were the closest things to friends he had. Not that he’d ever had many, even back when he had been free and engaged.

He normally avoided the thought of Susan. It hurt too much. She’d not even visited him to break off their engagement. She’d sent him a letter.

He swallowed and took the house in.

It looked nice. He had imagined living in such a house himself, one day, before he’d met…

The point was, it looked nice and Morse had no point in being here.

But Mrs. Thursday had asked him to have dinner with them, and she was such a nice lady… Morse didn’t have it I his heart to disappoint her, although why anyone would be disappointed from not spending time with him, he had no idea.

And so he knocked.

It was Mrs. Thursday herself who opened. “Morse! Punctual to the minute. Come on in.”

He stared; he couldn’t help but stare. She was actually wearing a rather nice dress and makeup. He’d never have expected anyone to don either of those things on for him again.

Before he could get over his surprise, she’d bustled him in and taken the wine out of his hands. “Oh. You really didn’t have to, dear.”

“It’s nothing” he said, flushing slightly. “I just wanted to show my gratitude…”

“Please, it’s just dinner.”

_It’s so much more,_ he wanted to say_. Your husband has been the first man to buy me a pint since I got out of prison. You brought me food when you really didn’t have to – and not for any particular reason, just because you could. It’s so much more than anyone has cared about me for years, and I don’t know how to react to that. _

He didn’t.

Inspector Thursday entered the hallway. “Ah, Morse. There you are.”

“Good evening.”

“Look, he brought us a nice bottle of wine” Mrs Thursday said, even though Morse was rather sure the wine was anything but.

“You didn’t have to do that” he said, echoing his wife.

He only shrugged, feeling rather helpless.

“You must be Morse.”

A young woman had entered the room, and he felt himself blushing again. But it had been so long since a pretty girl had talked to him voluntarily, and Miss Thursday was _very_ pretty indeed. “Yes” he said, “Yes I am.”

She shook his hand. “Good evening. My brother should be –“

The front door opened and a young man came in. “Ah, Sam. Right on time.”

“I always am, Joanie.”

“Right.”

He and Joyce had never bantered like this, but then, she had been considerably younger than him and he hadn’t been encouraged to speak during their family dinners.

For one guilty moment, he imagined what might have happened if instead of his father, he’d had the Thursdays to stand beside him when everything had happened. But no; that wouldn’t do; he had learned to live without regrets, or at least he believed so; and so he stopped that train of thought and allowed Mrs. Thursday to lead him to dinner.

* * *

He’d never been very good at cooking, and therefore couldn’t remember when he had last had a homecooked meal; and it soon transpired that, while he might have been helpless at the culinary arts, Mrs. Thursday was excellent at it. He did his best to eat as slowly as possible, not only did he not want to take too much food away from the rest of the family, he didn’t want them to know that he was quite as famished as he was. Money was tight – money as always tight – and to save it, it was the easiest thing simply not to eat for a few days until he could get his hands on a few pounds.

He should have known that Mrs. Thursday would have none of it. “Here dear” she said, putting even more dumplings on his plate.

“Oh Mrs. Thursday, I really can’t –“

“Of course you can” she sad firmly. “Have as much as you like.”

From the grins on her children’s faces, Morse assumed that this was usual for her.

“And, Dad, how was your day?” Miss Thursday asked.

“Now, the hat stand rule is still in place” he reminded her.

“I know” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“We leave the work at the doorstep” Master Thursday told Morse as explanation. He thought it safest to nod.

“So, Morse, what do you like to do?” Miss Thursday asked.

Morse supposed it was an easy enough question – he just didn’t know what to answer. “I like to read” he finally managed. “And doing crosswords. And listening to music.”

Her eyes lit up.

She really _was_ very pretty. “What kind of music?”

“Classical. Opera, mostly.”

“Oh, we have a few of those” Mrs. Thursday piped up. “If you want to, we can listen to one after dinner.”

Good God. He hadn’t listened to opera since before…

His record player was still with his family, he assumed, and he simply didn’t have the money for a new one.

His hands were shaking, but none of the Thursdays mentioned it. He would have been surprised if they had.

And so, he found himself listening to Turandot for the first time since he got out of prison a short time later, in place of honour at the sofa, Mr. Thursday having slipped a glass of brandy into his hands.

A week ago, he hadn’t even known someone like the Thursdays existed, and he probably wouldn’t have believed they could.

“Are you enjoying the music, dear?” Mrs. Thursday asked and he nodded because talking felt out of the question.

“You’ll get used to it” DI Thursday said and he was left to wonder what he was going to get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there is some plot coming... once the Thursdays have taken care of Morse. They were very insistent XD. Sorry.


	6. And Murdered In Her Bed

The children had left them alone; Fred was convinced they had noticed that he and Win wanted to make Morse as comfortable as possible, so he’d feel free to be completely and utterly honest with them.

It seemed they were succeeding, if not quite in the way he had intended, because it soon became clear that the combination of a warm, good meal In his stomach, his music, the brandy, and sitting on their cosy sofa had done Morse in. His head started to bob up and down, he constantly trailed off when answering their questions without seeming to realize he was doing it, and he was blinking much slower than usual.

Just as well. Fred wasn’t keen on him walking back all the way to his trailer at night, anyway.

He looked at Win; she gently raised her finger to her lips, then got up. At first, he expected her to turn off the music and was surprised when instead, it only got louder once she reached the record player; then he realized something Win had become privy too already – it was actually relaxing Morse more, rather than waking him up again.

By the time Win returned to her place at his side, Morse’s eyes were close and his breaths turning deep an even.

Win looked at him and smiled, then whispered, “I’ll get a blanket and a pillow, make him comfortable.”

Bless his Win.

While she was busy, he gently took the glass out of Morse’s hand. He didn’t even stir, and Fred wasn’t surprised to realize he hadn’t managed to finish his brandy.

Win bustled back into the living room just as he did so himself, throwing him a mock glare. “Fred Thursday” she said quietly, “You better help me with that poor boy instead of drinking”.

He complied.

* * *

When Morse had first admitted to himself that he was actually going to accept Mrs. Thursday’s invitation, he had been certain of one thing: he would make sure he wouldn’t overstay his welcome.

Hoe this had ended with him still sitting in their living room, having a quiet drink and a chat with both Mrs. And DI Thursday, he would never know.

But he was just so _comfortable_, more so than he had been in a long time, and surely staying a little longer wouldn’t hurt…

He was trying to figure out what they were talking about again; suddenly, there were gentle hands guiding him into a lying position. Normally, he would have snapped awake immediately, panicked at the very thought of anyone touching him, but then the same hands ran their fingers through his hair and a now-familiar voice said, “Sleep well, dear.”

And he relaxed.

And then there was nothing but a comforting, velvet darkness.

* * *

Fred quietly closed the living room door behind them.

“He’s out for the night, and small wonder” Win said. “I bet he hasn’t laid in a real bed for a long time. Not that our sofa is, but still… it’s got to be better than what he’s used to now, poor boy.”

“He’ll probably wake up disorientated –“ Fred tried to prepare her for what was to come. He had seen those who’d come out of prison, especially if they had had no business being there in the first place; he had seen them and their nightmares and the pain written upon their faces; and he didn’t want her to be afraid –

“That’s no problem. We’ll sort him out.”

And that ended that discussion.

* * *

When Fred woke up, Win was already downstairs, as usual. The whole family minus Morse was gathered around the kitchen table.

“He’s still asleep. I left him to rest. God knows that he could need it” she said.

He nodded. “Now, pet, remember that when –“

“Fred, I raised two children; how much more difficult can one sleepy young man be?”

“Yes, Dad” Joan chimed in, “Plus, from what I saw of Morse yesterday, I’d be more worried about Sam on his grumpier days!”

“You’re one to talk” he grumbled, “You usually don’t even communicate until your third cup of tea.”

“See what I mean?” Joan asked brightly.

Fred had to be content with that.

* * *

Morse slept through the bustle of everyone leaving for work; when Win checked on him, he was still dead to the world. Well, he didn’t have a fever at least – she made sure of that; and if there was something he needed even more than a nice meal, it was a good night’s rest. Therefore, she went on to do her normal housework, careful not to be too loud.

* * *

He woke up slowly, like emerging from a deep pool of water. Normally, that would have been enough to startle him awake instantly, the unfamiliarity of the feeling warning him that something was wrong; but instead, he went in and out of a most comfortable doze, feeling perfectly fine and at peace with the world for the first time in years.

When he finally opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, he needed a few moments to understand that it was, in fact, morning.

So much for not overstaying his welcome. His cheeks burned as he got up and realized the Thursdays had actually tucked him in. He’d have to leave quickly –

Only Mrs. Thursday was around when he entered the kitchen; he was almost glad of it. “Oh. Good morning, dear. Sleep well?”

“Very well thank you.”

Before he could add that it was time he should be going, she continued, “One or two eggs? Or do you prefer toast? Or both?”

His stomach growled, reminding him that he’d had a proper meal for the first time in years and that he’d enjoy having another one soon. He sighed to himself. “Mrs. Thursday –“

“It’s Win and now sit down, young man.”

Small wonder her children were as well-raised and polite as they were, he thought gloomily as he complied.

She immediately brightened up. “Now, about those eggs –“

* * *

“And then Fred said we might as well get married, you know, it being the war and all, and so we quickly said our vows and two days later he was back over the canal –“

Mrs. Thursday had decided to tell him all about the early days of their marriage over breakfast, and while Morse couldn’t help but admit to himself that part of him enjoyed learning more about the Thursdays, another part of him was feeling rather embarrassed; surely, the inspector hadn’t intended for a convict to hear all of this –

“Joan was born shortly afterwards, and Sam two years later. You’re not that far away from Joan age-wise though, are you, Morse? When were you born?”

He blinked, surprised at being asked a question all of a sudden, then answered, “I’m twenty-seven.”

She made a distressed noise, and it took him a moment to understand that it was because she had done the math on when he had gone to prison.

He blushed and concentrated on his plate. He should be going soon…

Only she beat him to it. “Say, Morse, there is…” she trailed off, then continued, “Could I ask you a favour?”

“Of course, Mrs. Thursday” he answered immediately. The realization that he was already prepared to do anything one of the Thursdays asked of him was not as unwelcome as it perhaps should have been. The possibility that she was going to tell him that he should probably leave her family alone now that she had been reminded he was a felon crossed his mind, but she was much too nice for such a direct request.

She shot him a look but apparently decided for once not to ask him to call her Win. “There are a few paintings I have been meaning to hang up, but none of the others ever seem to have time. Would you help me?”

Of course he would.

* * *

As it turned out, there was quite a bit more to do than hanging up a few pictures. There were all kinds of small household task Mrs. Thursday had been putting off, it seemed; Morse didn’t mind helping her one bit but was more than a little surprised when she tutted after he’d hammered a nail into the wall and fished a bit of plaster out of his curls, “Look at you – I have you slaving away here…”

“It’s really not-“

“Now, and I didn’t even let you use the bathroom yet! I’ll put out a toothbrush and run a bath –“

He hadn’t had a bath since before he went to prison. “It’s not –“

“Get a proper soak” she continued as if he hadn’t even opened his mouth and left the room. Morse wondered if he could make a break for it, but probably not. She’d most likely stop him at the front door. He wasn’t used to running anymore.

And so, twenty minutes later, he was indeed having a bath. Mrs. Thursday had finally left him alone when he started to undress – with the promise of laying out a few old clothes of her husband’s and son’s.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; it seemed to be the only thing left to do.

Despite having slept rather longer and better than he usually did, the now-unfamiliar comfort of the warm water soon lulled him into an enjoyable doze.

* * *

Fred called home around midday. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, love” Win told him. “He’s having a bath.”

Of course she hadn’t allowed him to leave, Fred thought with a smile. “So, no problems?”

“None at all; he helped to hang up the pictures and…”

As she prattled on, Fred realized how much they had already grown to care for Morse in such a very short span of time.

“I’ll see to it that he eats a proper lunch, and I’m giving him some of yours and Sam’s old clothes –“

It was a good thing the lad didn’t seem to be able to say no to her. But then, none of them had ever been able to do that, either.

If Fred remembered correctly, Win had been rather insistent that they got married during the war, too.

“I am glad to hear it” he said.

“I’ll try and keep him here as long as I can. That trailer is no proper place for a young man to live.”

Fred thought that it wasn’t a proper place for _anyone_ to live, but raised no objection. Let Morse somewhat forcibly be mothered for a while. It could only do him good.

“Sorry, sir?”

He looked up and saw Constable Strange, worry marring his features.

“Sorry pet I have to go.”

“Of course. We’ll see you at dinner.”

He hung up, knowing without asking that she’d made it her mission to keep Morse with them at least until then. “Constable?”

He was biting his lip. “It’s probably nothing, but… just returned from my beat, and I can’t find Morse anywhere.”

“Ah. That’s probably because he’s currently having lunch at my house, Constable.”

He blinked. “Blimey. Ah well, it will do him good to put some meat on those bones.”

He probably already had, knowing Win.

* * *

Morse woke up from his nap by Mrs. Thursday knocking on the door. “Morse? Lunch’s ready.”

Blushing when he realized he had once again stayed far longer than he had intended to, he got out of the tub and his hast called out, “I’m coming, Win.”

A pause. Then she ever so gently said, “I put out the clothes for you.”

He almost cursed when he realized. He’d been so determined never to call any of them by their first names… It spoke of a familiarity he didn’t deserve.

Still, he couldn’t help it now. If he knew Mrs. – if he knew Win, and he was starting to believe he’d gotten to know her as well as he could have done in twenty-four hours, she wouldn’t like him to go back to the more formal address now.

Best have lunch with her and be on his way, then.

As he walked down the stairs, he heard opera music drifting through the air and relied she’d put it on for him; and knew that before he’d be able to eat lunch, he’d have to get rid off that lump in his throat that seemed to have settled there semi-permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I love Fugue? XD Also, am I moving this too fast? It's not my fault - Win just went from 0 to 100 without my permission. Also, Fred and Win remembering their wedding differently is a joke, don't worry.


	7. He Walked Amongst The Trial Men

Fred still thought there was something that Doctor Stromming wasn’t telling him. His second visit hadn’t brought any new information to light either.

There was a chance his wife knew, though. She appeared to be very devoted to her husband, so she would probably be inclined to be jealous, and realize.

Fred already knew that this would be a difficult conversation.

He hadn’t quite expected her to snap at him, however.

“Absolutely not” she told him, her eyes hardening. “My husband would never betray me.”

Her emphasis on the word only made him surer than ever that something was going on. She must have her suspicions, too.

He wondered what Morse would have said to it all. He seemed to think much of her. He thought of the lad falling asleep to the music last night. He’d looked even younger than usual, then.

Fred shook his head and told himself to focus on the case.

* * *

“That’s very nice of you Morse but you really don’t have to” Win told him. He was drying the dishes she had just washed.

“It’s the least I can do” he said, slightly embarrassed.

She counted it as a success. He’d been considerably more embarrassed when he had arrived last night.

“Well then, if you insist…” She looked out the window into the garden. “My daffodils are growing well, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wandered lonely as a cloud” he mumbled and she couldn’t help but smile. Fred had told her he had a knack for poetry.

“Wordsworth, isn’t it?”

He looked taken aback by someone actually reacting to what he had to say. Well, they would fix that soon enough.

“Now” she continued, “How about I make us a nice cup of tea after all the work we’ve been doing?”

He didn’t even protest anymore.

* * *

To say that Fred was surprised to learn that Miles Percival had ben Mary Tremlett’s boyfriend was an understatement. There had been no indication from her family that she had one – granted, he believed some teenage girls liked to keep things like that to themselves, but remembering Joan, he found it difficult to believe that they could hide such details completely – and apparently, it had been serious enough that Miles had been thinking of marriage.

A bit young for it, if you asked Fred. But then again, Morse had already been engaged when he had been arrested…

For now, he kept the information to himself. It was a possibility that Miles had killed Mary and then himself in a fit of remorse, but it was by no means the only one; yet Fred knew Crisp and Lott well enough to know that they’d jump at the chance to close the case.

He really should have known better than top try and talk of Morse to Crisp, he thought bitterly.

* * *

Jim Strange knew he was by no means a genius. He certainly wasn’t as clever as someone like Morse and never would be; and he lacked the experience of the Old Man when it came to coppering.

But what he had come to trust where his instincts, and when Lott stepped up to him, they all screamed a warning. There was a reason he had gone to the Old Man and not Lott with his information, even though technically the later was his immediate superior. “Strange, a word?”

There it was. It were things like this – like calling him by his name instead of his rank as DI Thursday was wont to do – that showed you what kind of copper you were dealing with. “Of course, sir” he said politely.

“You haven’t heard anything about Thursday investigating some old crime or another, have you?”

“An old crime, sir?” he asked innocently, even though he knew immediately what was going on. Of course. The Old Man wasn’t the kind of copper who would decide someone had been sent to prison when innocent and then do nothing about it.

It rankled some that he had decided that Strange shouldn’t know, but he’d probably had his reasons.

And one of the reasons was currently interrogating Strange. “I really can’t think of anything, sir” he continued as innocently as he could, “Why, has he said anything?”

“No, but there was this robbery a few years back… open-and-shut case, you understand.”

Yes, Strange thought angrily, open-and-shut. Morse probably never had had a chance. Lott had seen him and decided he was the one who had done this, even though Morse was one of the least likely people to commit robbery he’d ever seen.

He wouldn’t even take his money when it was freely offered before he thanked him for the thing with the crosswords, for crying out loud. But he was supposed to have stolen it, taken it by force? Morse, who’d immediately befriended the one lonely boy who’d walked up to his trailer?

It didn’t make any sense.

“And that is to say” his voice dropped. “I don’t blame Fred for being interested. High-profile and he missed it because he was on holiday. But I think he’s been involved in something that he better should let go… for all involved.”

A cold shiver ran down Strange’s spine. Lott wasn’t talking about going after Morse, was he? No; he couldn’t be. He didn’t know where Morse was, for one thing – Strange was pretty sure he was the only adult he’d spoken to willingly since he’d got out before this week.

“And if you know something, Constable” he continued, although there was nothing of the respect the Old Man tended to show even the newest members of the force in his tone; no, this was Lott trying to manipulate him, and Strange was having none of it. “If you know something, I promise it wouldn’t be forgotten that you helped me out…”

Who did he even think he was? DI Thursday was his superior officer – both of theirs – and he just thought Jim would rat him out for something it shouldn’t even have been able to rat him out first?

He took a deep breath and did his best to look reasonably clueless. He’d learned early on that people often thought he was a bit slow, and he could use that to his advantage now. “When I hear something, sir, I’ll let you know.”

“Good man, Strange. Good man.”

Lott left him to himself after that.

Jim couldn’t help but be grateful that Morse was with the Old Man right now – or rather, in the Old Man’s home. Suspicious he might be, but Lott was not the kind of chap who’d imagine someone feeding someone out of nothing but the goodness of their hearts.

It was then and there – comparing how Lott treated others versus how DI Thursday treated others – that Jim made a final decision.

He was going to warn the Old Man.

And he’d look out for him behind his back.

* * *

“Now I don’t think that wallpaper would do at all, what do you think? I know Joan would like yellow, but yellow can be a bit too bright –“

Morse had no idea how he had gone from deciding that he should leave as soon as he was up to still being firmly placed in the Thursdays’ home mid-afternoon, discussing Mrs. Thursday’s plans for changing the colour of the living room wallpaper. It was clear he was waiting for an answer though so he ventured forth with, “I have always been rather fond of blue. Light blue.”

She hummed and let her gaze travel over the walls, apparently considering his choice. “I know Fred’s fond of blue too, although he insists anything I pick will be fine.”

“If you don’t mind me, saying, Win” he replied shyly, “But I quite like the room as it is, too.”

She beamed. “I’m glad to hear it.” She glanced at the tea on the table. “Oh dear we’re running low on biscuits.”

Because she’d given him so many, he thought guiltily; then he contemplated offering to return some of them, but already knew as he had the idea that it would be a fruitless endeavour. Win would only insist that he keep them.

“Time to go to the store” she said, standing up. “Do you want to accompany me, Morse?”

He hadn’t seen the inside of one in quite some time – well, not a proper store; there was one near his trailer that was just down-trodden and dreary enough that he could frequent it if he needed anything, but the thought of going with Win and being near so many people who had no idea what kind of life he led caused him not inconsiderable anxiety.

She looked at him with open and honest sympathy in her eyes instead of the disgust or pity he’d grown used to. “Oh.” Then, she continued, “Well then I’ll just pop out and get us some more biscuits and a few other things.”

Now was the perfect time to get up to and bid her –

“Promise me you’ll stay in the meantime?”

Now she had him. He could hardly say no to Win, could he?

“Yes” he said earnestly.

She smiled. “Why don’t you listen to some music and relax?” After she’d given the suggestion, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Be back as soon as I can.”

He nodded because it felt impossible to even try and speak at the moment.

“See you then, Morse.”

And she moved out of the room before he’d gotten his voice back.

* * *

After she’d left, Morse put on a record indeed – not because he felt he had the right to, but because he was worried Win would be disappointed if he didn’t. And it had been so long since he’d heard the _Carmina Burana…_

He was letting the familiar and yet so long unheard notes wash over him when the phone rang. He hesitated for a few moments. He certainly had no business answering the Thursdays’ phone. But then, Win had told him that DI Thursday had called in while he was having a bath, and if he was doing so again, Morse didn’t want him to worry.

So he picked it up, realizing as he did so that he hadn’t held a receiver in his hand in years. The weight felt almost alien to him. “Thursday residence.”

“Ah yes. Mr. Sam Thursday, is it?”

His blood ran cold.

That voice.

He still heard it in his nightmares.

Lott, however, seemed to have no such power of memory – or he had simply dismissed him from his thoughts the second he put him behind bars.

He cleared his throat, an idea darted into his mind as he did so. Lott wouldn’t just call in socially on the Thursdays, he was sure. Otherwise, if they had been that friendly, DI Thursday would have been more suspicious of Morse and more inclined to trust his fellow officer.

Which meant that whatever he was up to – it couldn’t’ be good.

And so Morse did his best to make his voice sound hoarse and imagined what the friendly young man he’d met yesterday would say in such a situation. “Yes. Feeling a bit under the weather, so I stayed home today, Mr. –“

“It’s DS Lott from the station.”

“DS Lott.”

“I am sorry to hear about your indisposition.”

Only he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be.

“Is there something you need, DS –“

“Yes, Mr. Thursday. You see, I have been trying to get a hold of your father all day – any idea where he might be?”

This couldn’t be good. “No I am afraid not”.

“Well, couldn’t harm to try, could it”.

How well Morse remembered that tone, that treacherous edge to his voice, that slight promise that if he only said what he wanted to say he would be left alone soon…

“No, it couldn’t. Sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“No problem, Mr. Thursday. I’m sure I’ll get a hold of him eventually. Get better soon.”

A click.

Morse hung up, feeling utterly and completely numb.

Somehow, he made his way to the sofa, where he buried his head in his hands, un-cried sobs shaking his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Win is just steam-rolling Morse with loving care at this point lol. We will eventually get back to the case I promise.


	8. In A Suit Of Shabby Grey

Fred arrived back at the station determined to keep the connection between Miles Percival and Mary Tremlett to himself – for now. Or at the very least, keep it from Lott.

It was a decision that was only proven right about ten minutes after he’d returned when Strange knocked on his door. “Sorry, sir. A word?”

Strange looked about as worried as Fred had ever seen him. But thankfully, Win was keeping Morse safe in their home, so it couldn’t be that. “Yes, Constable?”

“I – DS Lott came to talk to me today.” He seemed to think very carefully about what he was saying. “He wanted to know – well, to be frank, he wanted to know what you were working on, sir. Seemed to me like he was a little bit… too interested. I think – I think he thinks that you are going through Morse’s old case.” He looked at Fred, his eyes wide, his face betraying no sign of deception or mistrust. “Is it true, sir? Are you working Morse’s case?”

Fred considered his options. Lott could very well have offered Strange something like quick advancement in exchange for information, but – this was the Constable who had first alerzed him to Morse’s existence and who, Fred was sure, even liked him; he could probably risk it.

He cleared his throat. “You might want to close the door.”

Strange immediately complied.

“What I am going to tell you” he began, carefully choosing his words, “has to stay between us, Constable.”

He nodded.

“Yes. I have been going through Morse’s file, and I have listened to his account of what happened, and – it seems there were some – irregularities.”

Strange’s eyes widened. “Always thought he didn’t look the sort, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“No. No, he doesn’t. But the point is – he accused DS Lott of some… unsavoury practices.”

“Unsavoury?”

“Starved him, didn’t allow him to sleep” Fred burst out, “Wouldn’t even tell him what time it was. Beat him. Made him confess.”

“Oh God.”

“I don’t think he had anything to do with that, Constable.” If anything, Morse could have been said to have been forsaken by everybody.

“Sorry sir, but would you mind terribly if I sat down?” Strange asked; his face looked white and clammy. Fred had been right – he did like Morse; and so, he gestured for him to take a seat.

“I imagined it had to have been something bad” Strange said as he did so, “He jumped around like a scared hare when I first talked to him. Took a few weeks before he even trusted me enough not to try and break into his trailer, and he only accepted that first paper after about two months. But I didn’t think… I thought being sent to prison had been enough for him to…” He swallowed. “I didn’t think DS Lott was capable of something like this.”

While Fred himself had been very aware that he was; and yet he had done nothing for years.

In some ways, he was responsible for Morse being sent to prison, too.

He sighed. “The point is, he seems to be – and you said he asked what I was up to?”

Strange nodded. “Didn’t mention Morse by name, just said something about an old case, but I’m not stupid, sir – I figured that could be the only one to interest you right now.”

He was smarter than Fred had given him credit for, he thought somewhat guiltily. “Well then, Constable, it seems like you have to make a decision.”

Silence.

“It won’t be easy, going against Lott and, as a consequence, Crisp” he added. “Might harm your career.”

Strange seemed to contemplate this. “But if we don’t…” he finally ventured.

“If we don’t” Fred said honestly, “it probably won’t make a difference. I mean, Lott has plans – he might eventually be sent to Scotland Yard; and Crisp, like me, is going to retire one day. So, if you decide to withdraw, there is no shame to it.”

“But Morse would stay where he is.”

“Yes. But” he continued with some amount of pain, “he’s not doing any harm, is there.”

“Sir, the harm has been done _to him_. You can’t tell me you’re okay with this. You’re the one who invited him to your house” Strange pointed out rather sharply.

“No, I am not. I am just saying there is no need for you to risk your career alongside me.”

Strange was silent and Fred knew that he was indeed pondering what he had been saying. The he quietly answered, “But I made a pledge when I entered the force.”

“So did Crisp and Lott, and look where that led us” he answered sharply.

Strange thought about it for a few more moments, then shook his head. “No. I couldn’t look myself in the eyes anymore if I let this be.”

He looked determined and Fred took a dep breath. “Fine. If we’re going to make this stick, we have to be very careful. Don’t talk about this to anyone.”

_Not even Morse_, he decided. _Not for now_. Not with the lad only just getting used to being cared for again. Later, maybe. When he was ready and there was actually a chance he might be rehabilitated. Then. Not now, when everything was still so fresh.

Strange nodded. “I could ask the lads about DS Lott though, sir. Not anything suspicious, of course – just some mild complaining about the higher-.ups.”

It was more subterfuge than Fred would have thought it capable of, but if the others in uniform would trust anyone, it was Strange. He had gotten Morse to trust him after all, and that had been no small feat. “Fine. But remember –“

“I will be careful, sir, I promise.”

It was all he could ask for.

* * *

Win was smiling to herself as she walked up to their house. She’d bought more biscuits than usual, and enough things to ensure that, when they let Morse go, he’d be carrying a few sandwiches again.

She opened the door and, to her surprise, didn’t hear anything – no music. She’d thought that Morse would seize the opportunity –

Something told her that something had happened and she quickly put down her groceries and hurried into the living room, worried that he’d left after all. “Morse? Is everything –“

Oh God. He was sitting on the sofa, shaking, looking for all the world as if he had just seen a ghost. “Morse?”

He looked up, his eyes wide and shining, unshed tears behind them. “I’m sorry” he said, and then he kept repeating it, “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry –“

Oh dear. She knew that some people thought that the best course of action when someone grew a little hysterical was to punch them in the face or throw water at them, but she had never liked the thought; and so she sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms.

The poor boy flinched and stiffened.

“There, there” she said gently, as she had used to do with her children after a nightmare, “It will all be fine.”

He hesitated for a moment, then all but melted into her arms, his head burying into her shoulder as sobs wrecked his body.

Se continued to hold him, rubbing his back and now and then whispering a few reassuring words; finally, he calmed down enough to pull back and wipe his cheeks with his hand. “I’m so –“

“None of that” she said simply, taking out a handkerchief to help him clean himself up. “Something must have happened; what’s going on, dear?”

He swallowed, then looked away before glancing at her again and saying, in a very small voice, “Your telephone rang. I didn’t want DI Thursday to worry when nobody answered, so I did.”

She nodded; the last thing Morse needed right now was being reprimanded for something he’d done for the right reasons, and to be honest, she didn’t care whether or not he answered their phone. If anything, she liked to think he’d done it because they had already made him feel at home.

“It was – it was DS Lott.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how much DI Thursday told –“

“I know” she interrupted him gently.

That poor, poor boy. It must have shaken him greatly to hear his voice again after all these years.

“I – he thought I was Sam” he rushed out, “And I didn’t exactly disabuse him of the notion. I didn’t want him to know – and he was asking about DI Thursday – and it’s all my fault.”

“Oh dear, why should it be your fault?”

“Does he usually call?” he challenged her and she had to admit that no, he didn’t.

“See?” he asked even though Win still failed to see. “It’s obvious. DI Thursday must have been asking questions – I should have expected it of him – and now Lott is on his case and – and God knows what he’ll do –“

“If he were to try on Fred what he dared do to you he’d get a bloody nose out of it at best” she tried for some levity, but Morse didn’t seem to hear it.

“I had nothing, I was a nobody – but he’s a family man, and I put him in harm’s way –“

Nothing? Nobody? He’d had a scholarship, Fred had said, and a fiancée. But apparently, he had forgotten all about that in his desire to keep her husband safe, that dear, _dear_ lad.

“Now she interrupted him, rubbing his back once more, “I’ll make us some tea.”

He frantically caught her hand when she got up. “Win, I really should –“

“Have a cup of tea, like I said” she continued firmly. “With _lots_ of sugar. And then we’ll talk.”

Morse needed something against the shock. She supposed that, in his imagination and memories, Lott had become something like a bogey man, always ready to strike out of the shadows; and now he wasn’t able to tell that he couldn’t very well go after Fred with a knife just because he seemed to want to.

“Come with me.”

Sitting in their warm kitchen always made her feel better, and she didn’t want Morse to try and leave after all.

He followed after her, looking like a scared rabbit, worse than when he had first shown up at their doorstep.

“Now sit down” she told him gently, “I’ll have the tea ready in no time.”

She’d have liked him to eat something too, but he probably wouldn’t be able to get it down.

He laid his hands on the table and stared at them as if waiting for answers that wouldn’t come.

She ran her fingers through his hair once more. “It’ll be alright. Fred can take care of himself.” _Unlike you right now,_ but she didn’t state that last thought.

“But what if –“

“Asking what if has never done anyone good” she replied firmly but quietly. “And now let’s have tea.”

* * *

Morse, once he had processed what had happened, became eager to talk; or rather, she decided, he needed to talk about what Lott had done to him.

The more and more she heard, the more she wanted to slap that man. While she wasn’t usually an advocate for violence, he would have deserved it.

Starving and beating people and making them confess to something they hadn’t done…

It was terrible.

When Morse ended with “And of course I never heard of Susan again” she squeezed his hand.

“I’m sorry” he then said again to her dismay, “I shouldn’t burden you with –“

“Morse, you can always come to me, you hear? Whether you need to talk or not. I promise.”

His eyes shone with tears once again, but this time, they seemed to be of gratitude. “Thank you, Win.”

“You’re welcome” she told him gently.

He squeezed her hand back.

She took a deep breath. Morse hadn’t run; Morse had stayed and told her; and that was progress, as far as she was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soon. Soon. We will get to the case soon. Win just went ahead without me again.


	9. A Cricket Cap Was On His Head

It didn’t surprise Win that Morse grew rather pensive and quiet after their talk; and so, she thought it best to install him in the living room with another cup of tea and one of their records playing.

Granted, she would have preferred it if he would have let her know what was going on in that head of his, but she knew to pick her battles.

As she put down the cup in front of him, he said quietly, “DI Thursday.”

“Don’t worry dear, I’ll let him know.”

She would have even if Morse hadn’t reminded her. Fred might not have told her much about his work, but she knew that man wasn’t good news.

And what he had done to that poor boy currently trying to calm down in her living room…

She would have liked to tell DS Lott a few things.

* * *

Jim was painfully aware that he wasn’t the most subtle of men, and right now, he was probably way too obvious as he hung around the station door, hoping to pass up DI Thursday when he returned. He wanted to know if there had been… developments.

Thankfully, he came in soon after Jim himself had, looking frustrated and defeated.

Sadly, Lott reached him before he could, and he was witness to what was obviously a rather uncomfortable talk between them.

* * *

Lott had never been one of Fred’s favourite sights to greet him upon arriving at the station, and now he had even less reason to like him.

“Sir. May I ask what line of inquiry you were pursuing?”

He decided that he might as well throw him something to distract him. “There appears to be a connection between Miles Percival and Mary Tremlett. He was her boyfriend.”

“The suicide? Do you think he might have something to do with her murder and then killed himself in a fit of remorse?” His words were perfectly cordial or professional, but the whole time he was speaking he was searching Fred’s face with shrewd eyes, for signs of weakness, signs that would betray what he was up to.

Fred wondered how Morse had felt with this eyes upon him hour after hour, staring him down as Lott forced him to confess.

He casually pit his hands into the pockets of his coat so Lott wouldn’t see him balling them into fists. It was all he could do to stop himself from punching him in the face.

When they were done discussing the case – Lott already more than half convinced that Miles had killed Mary, as Fred had known he would be – he added, “Oh, and I hope your boy will be better soon, sir.” There was a slightly threatening undertone to his words that Fred couldn’t understand. Surely, he wouldn’t be so dumb as to threaten his children? Still; he reminded himself to check in with Sam later.

Finally, Lott stepped away.

* * *

As soon as the Sergeant was gone, Jim quickly went up to DI Thursday. “Sir, a word?”

* * *

“So nothing new?”

The Old Man took a drag from his pipe, which he’d lit as soon as they entered his office, and shook his head. “Should have known it was a bad idea to talk to Crisp. Now Lott’s onto it. There was something about his tone just now… didn’t much care for it.”

“But he doesn’t know where Morse…” Jim trailed off, feeling that the word “lives” would have been rather too generous a description “is staying, does he?”

“No but he’s not exactly hard to find” DI Thursday said correctly. “He hasn’t even changed his names, as fellows are usually wont to do after jail.”

“Doesn’t help he sticks out like a sore thumb either” Jim said, then added, “I’m sorry sir. I didn’t mean –“

“I think it is not an exaggeration to say that Morse is – somewhat unusual” DI Thursday replied, soothing his worries. “But still – this means he should indeed be easy to find, if Lott wants to. And once he does...” he trailed off.

Jim had no idea what _exactly_ had transpired between Morse and Lott; he rather suspected that these two were the only ones who could answer that question; but whatever the details they continued to haunt Morse. That look around his eyes…

And suddenly, Jim was even more damn glad that he hadn’t told Lott a thing. A copper who could do that to someone and go on as if nothing had happened was bad news, plain and simple.

“If push comes to shove, he can always stay with us” DI Thursday continued and Jim wondered how a man he had had the most difficult time getting him to even _talk_ to him could have grown so close to the governor and his family in such a short period of time. “Not sure if he would agree to, though” he continued.

“I don’t really know what went down six years ago, sir” Jim said carefully, feeling somewhat out of his depth, “But I think that… well, when it comes to hiding from the guy who did all of that to him, Morse isn’t going to protest much.”

“Perhaps not” he replied, then a brief smile crossed his face. “I can always send Win to collect him. Lad can’t say no to her, seems like.”

Jim had only met Mrs. Thursday a couple of times, but if the rumours going around then station were tried, that was most likely the case.

The phone rang. “Excuse me, Constable.” DI Thursday picked up. “DI – oh, hello, pet.” He listened for a few moments, then his face grew serious, in the way Jim had seen when he went after a particularly vicious criminal. “He did _what_?”

* * *

He had somewhat calmed down by the time Win came to check up on him. “Morse, dear, are you alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I called Fred to let him know. Just in case”. Although what case, she couldn’t say.

She sat down next to him and he resigned himself to talk about what had happened once more. “That must have been a shock” she said softly.

“It was” he admitted to her. She wondered if he’d noticed that he’d automatically moved closer to her, searching for the human connection he had believed he didn’t want anymore, and despite everything, she had to hide a smile.

Morse, whether aware of it or not, was a different creature already than the lonely man who had walked up to their house yesterday.

“It’s – whenever I thought – when I was inside…” he trailed off and she patiently waited for him to continue. He deserved that consideration. “His voice. That was always the first thing to come back to me. Yelling at me, screaming, cursing me –“ Morse’s own voice was trembling. “And I sitting there, wondering why me, why it had to be me, and the unfairness of it all –“

It _had_ been unfair. It was _still_ unfair. So utterly and completely unfair.

“That’s the second time I’ve just told a Thursday about this” Morse mused, then smiled a weak smile. “Between you and your husband, Win, I’m pretty sure you could get every criminal between here and London to confess.”

He was trying to make a joke. A very good sign.

“There’s a reason I married him” she agreed, squeezing Morse’s knee. “Now, how about I play you some of Joan’s records? I imagine you haven’t heard anything new in a while.”

He made a face that only encouraged her further. He hadn’t been given the chance to grow up yet, she’d realized; that was another one of his troubles. His life had been on hold. They’d change that.

“Don’t give me that face. A little change always does you good” she stood up.

“You are just going in her room when she’s not there?”

Now there was a slightly panicked edge to his voice and it took her a moment to understand that he was talking about Joan’s privacy.

Of course. Five years in prison, five years if having no say when to eat, when and where to sleep, when and where to take exercise – for Morse, it was probably the worst thing to invade someone’s space.

He certainly hadn’t seemed to mind her or Fred visiting him though. Odd.

“Oh, don’t worry about that” she said as happily and carelessly as she could. “We all have the carte blanche here when it comes to our respective rooms. As long as we tell her afterwards, it’ll be fine.”

He seemed sceptical but apparently decided that she should know what she was talking about.

Another success.

She thought about inviting him into Joan’s room, but that would probably be a bit much; yes, it would be much better to bring the records to him.

* * *

Half an hour later, Morse was looking at her with a slightly pained expression.

“You don’t like it?” she asked. Win herself had a bit of a weakness for _The WildWood_ herself.

“There are… interesting cadences” he began bravely with a determination that made her smile. “I can see why someone would like to listen to it”.

“Cadences?” she asked. She had by now learned that Morse liked to explain things, but didn’t want to feel that his monologues were unwelcome. He would have made a good professor, if he’d been allowed to finish his degree, she thought somewhat sadly.

“Two-chord progressions at the end of a phrase in music” Morse said automatically, then chuckled to himself. She didn’t quite know if this was good or not.

“Morse?”

“Sorry, it just occurred to me that I have spoken more in two days than in the preceding years combined.”

Not good, then.

“That’s alright. I don’t mind learning something new now and then” she said as happily as she could.

He smiled at her. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“Do what?”

“Try and make me feel better.”

“Of course I do” she said honestly. “You deserve it.”

He looked at her, eyes wide and shocked. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Of course you do, Morse.” She waited a moment, then continued quietly, “You know we all already like you immensely, don’t you?”

“Oh.”

He turned his head away; she was about to try and catch his attention again when she heard him try to clean his nose and realized what had happened.

It seemed to genuinely not have occurred to him that they didn’t just see him as a victim.

Sensing that he needed some time alone, she collected their cups. “I’ll get us some more tea.”

He didn’t answer, but she didn’t need him to.

* * *

It was pathetic to react this way, but it had been such a long time since anyone had told him they liked him.

Still – it hardened the resolve that had been growing inside of him for the last half hour or so.

The Thursdays had been nothing but kind and friendly to him; that was a fact.

They were now in danger because of him; that was also a fact.

DI Thursday might believe that he knew Lott – and maybe he did, as a colleague, someone had regular contact with but didn’t particularly like.

But he didn’t know him like Morse did. He didn’t know him as an adversary.

He didn’t know what he was capable of.

And for Morse’s sake, he was ready to risk his and his family’s well-being. He’d said their superior officer was on Lott’s side, too.

It was simply too risky. Morse couldn’t allow him to do this.

And so, he would leave.

And he wasn’t talking about finally being firm and leaving the house.

No. He was talking about leaving Oxford.

He didn’t have anything that kept him here, anyway. He’d stayed because there had been no place for him to go; but didn’t that mean that technically, there was everywhere for him to go?

Yes. He would leave, and he wouldn’t come back.

And DI Thursday and Win and Master and Miss Thursday would be safe.

He’d have to lie to them of course, and maybe they would think less of him for it.

But then, what was that against their safety?


	10. And His Step Seemed Light And Gay

Miss Thursday returned soon after five, smiling happily (he fervently but despairingly hoped he wasn’t blushing) when she saw him. “Morse! Did Mum lock you in?”

He was about to protest that she had done nothing of the sort, then remembered that she and her brother seemed to be people who enjoyed bantering, so he said lightly, “Something like it”.

She threw her head back and laughed (another blush he desperately hoped no one had noticed). “I was ready to bet you’d still be here when I returned. Really should have made that wager with Sam.”

“If he knows Win as well as you do, I don’t think he’d have accepted that particular bet” Morse answered.

Her eyes lightened up. “Win, is it? Then you can stop it with that Miss Thursday stuff. I’m Joan. Joanie for friends and family.”

He held it for equally as possible to call her Joanie as to suddenly stop liking Wagner’s music, but he didn’t tell her that.

“And Sam’s going to tell you the same.” She giggled. “Master Thursday, like in a Dickens novel.”

“As long as your father is present” he told her gravely, “It is the correct form of address.”

“A hundred years ago, maybe.”

“Someone please set the table” Win called out from the kitchen and Morse automatically moved to help her. “Oh, not you dear, you’re a guest! Joanie?”

“Coming, Mum” she called out then turned to Morse and told him, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

His smile felt painful on his face.

She didn’t know how right she was.

Sam came home soon after Joan had set the table and, just as she had predicted, immediately insisted that he call him by his first name too. “Or Sammy. But only between us.”

He was still in that phase were nicknames suddenly became embarrassing, Morse decided; but then, he was still relatively young.

Morse knew that many would have called him a young man too, but he certainly didn’t feel like it.

Especially as he watched the family bustle around him – Win had insisted that he stay seated – and realized just how much he would miss them all, despite only having met them a few days short days ago.

It felt like it had been much longer since DI Thursday had knocked on his door.

He’d deal, he told himself. After all, he had dealt with being thrown into jail and living outside of society, hadn’t he?

If only he could have believed his own lie. 

* * *

When Fred strolled up to his house that evening, he was more than a little concerned. It was clear that Lott was up to something; equally clear that Crisp was at least complicit in all of it; and, clearest of all, that Morse was the biggest danger to them at the moment.

He desperately hoped that the lad was still at his house and felt relief sweep over him when he heard something classical play as he opened the door. Win was known to listen to a few records now and then, but she preferred more modern music, which meant she had most likely pit it on for Morse’s benefit.

And indeed did he come out the living room alongside the children to greet him, looking perhaps a bit sheepish, as if he expected Fred to wonder what he was still doing there. As if he wouldn’t be happy to see him.

“Good evening, Inspector.”

“Do you think” Sam addressed his sister, “We’re going to get him to call Dad “Fred” eventually?”

“Give it time” she replied, “Probably a decade or two.”

“I don’t know, he came to call Mum by her first name pretty quickly…”

Of course he did, Fred thought, and was positively surprised when Morse turned to him and asked with a sigh, “Are they always like this?”

What had Win _done_ to the lad in the hours he’d been gone?

“Oh yes, don’t worry about it.”

Morse actually smiled, although it looked a bit too wistful for Fred’s liking.

* * *

Dinner was another comfortable family affair, with even Morse now and then chiming into the conversation.

And yet Fred couldn’t help but feel that something was off. His instincts were telling him that something was going on. Morse kept glancing round their table in a way Fred vividly remembered from the war, when one had been looking at his comrades and memorizing their faces in case they weren’t there tomorrow anymore.

Was he scared of something? Maybe talking to Lott had spooked him more than he was ready to admit. And God knew he had every reason to be scared of him.

Fred swore to himself that the man would never lay a hand on a suspect again.

And he’d never come near Morse, not if he had any say in it.

Any at all.

* * *

Morse had rather the feeling that Inspector Thursday was suspecting something. He kept throwing him these knowing glances.

He probably wouldn’t be able to escape another – their last – after-dinner-chat. But then, he would leave.

He had to.

For the Thursdays’ sake.

* * *

Despite the hat stand rule Morse had heard so much about, DI Thursday eventually approached the topic of the phone call. “Lott’s never been subtle. Just be on your guard if he ever calls again.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad” Joan said while Sam brightened up.

“What if I stay home tomorrow? Then, when someone asks, they can tell them that I am indeed sick. And my colleagues won’t just snitch that the day was off.”

“Good idea” DI Thursday said.

“But Daaaaaaaaad” Joan whined “I wanna have a holiday in honour of our new friend too!”

“Now, now, you know the rules, young lady” Win said, her eyes sparkling, “And you haven’t done your homework.”

“Imagine that, I haven’t done it in years!”

They all laughed, even Morse, even though as the evening went on, he found himself less and less inclined to.

Yes, it was the right decision to leave, he knew that, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

He tried lying to himself again.

It had the same success as the first time.

* * *

Per unspoken consensus – or maybe they had talked behind his back – the others left him and DI Thursday alone in the living room after they had finished their meal (and God knew, Morse thought with a pang, when he’d next eat a home-cooked one).

He took care to sit up straight on the sofa lest he fall asleep again; and the twinkle in DI Thursday’s eyes as he handed him a glass of brandy showed that he had guessed his thoughts. “You know you’re always welcome to spend the night.”

“I don’t want to…” Morse began, already knowing it would be useless.

DI Thursday seemed to be content with him stopping to talk and sat down next to him. “About your talk with Lott. Don’t worry; you heard Sam say his colleagues are not the ones to tell tales.”

“He really shouldn’t have to stay home for my sake” Morse mumbled into his glass. “it was just the first thing that came to mind.”

“I guessed as such. Quick thinking.”

He shrugged. “I had to learn it in prison.”

He would never have survived otherwise.

DI Thursday winced. “Suppose that’s true. Now, don’t worry; we’ll sort this out.”

“How?” he challenged him. “You said even DCS – Crisp, was it? Is on Lott’s side. What chance do we have?”

“Well, first of all, we got justice on our side.”

Morse couldn’t help it; he laughed. He laughed like he had back in the trailer, although this time, he thankfully didn’t start to cough. When he was done, he had to wipe his eyes.

DI Thursday was shaking his head – at himself. “Really should have stated that differently. But don’t think we’re alone in this. There’s Strange, and a few others I can count on.”

“You have cases to work on.”

He nodded. “That we do, but that doesn’t mean yours if of any less importance just because it happened years ago.”

Morse had to look away.

“You’d be an excellent witness of course once we can make the charges stick” he continued, oblivious to the fact that his excellent witness was about to become no witness at all. “Lad like you on the stand, everyone is going to believe you.”

“They didn’t six years ago.”

“They will when they hear the other evidence we’re going to find.”

More found himself wondering how, after all these years spent on the streets policing them, he could still be so optimistic.

“Oy” DI Thursday squeezed his shoulder. “It will all be fine. I promise.”

Yes, things would be fine.

But not for the reason he believed they would.

* * *

Win was pressing him to stay the night. “I can put young up on the sofa again, no problem.”

“Or you can have my bed” Sam chimed in, “Lie in a proper one for once.”

They had definitely inherited their parents’ good hearts. “Thank you, but I really should be going home.” With a stroke of genius he added, “There are a few things I need to pick up.”

The way Win’s eyes lightened up made him feel ashamed. “Of course. And then you can stay with us for a while!”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“Too bad I let Strange drop me off” DI Thursday said, “I could have driven you.”

Thank God, Morse thought; if that had happened, he would never have got away. He’d have insisted on waiting for him, he was sure.

After he’d bid the family goodbye, he walked away into the night and forced himself not to turn around. He didn’t want the last time he was ever going to see be them waving him goodbye, convinced he would return soon.

* * *

He walked down the streets of Oxford for the last time and wondered why, despite everything that had happened to him since he’d moved to the city, he felt so reluctant to leave it. Probably just nerves; he’d stuck with what he knew when they’d let him out, and now he was feeling apprehensive about leaving it all behind.

And of course Tommy lived her. And PC Strange.

And the Thursdays.

But he forced the thought away and concentrated on walking.

One step in front of the other.

* * *

He hadn’t expected someone to be waiting for him, but when he arrived at his trailer, Tommy stood up. He’d been sitting in front of it. “Morse!” He rushed to him and hugged his hip. “I didn’t know where you were.”

“I was with friends” Morse replied gently, then hesitated before continuing, “I am actually going to stay with them for a while.”

To his dismay, there were tears in his eyes when Tommy pulled back. “But you make everything better!”

Not really. He made everything worse. But he could hardly tell him that.

“I – I’ll miss you too” he said quietly, judging this to be the best response. “And I’ll leave the Hardy we’ve been reading behind, alright? So you can always come and take a look. You should persevere with him, Tommy; you’ll understand it on your own eventually.”

It was one of only three books he owned, but he felt that he owed Tommy that much.

He sniffed. “Thank you, Morse.”

“None of that”. He drew him into a quick hug, imagining what DI Thursday would do in this situation. “Just go home, and remember I’ll always be your friend.”

As he watched him walk away, there were tears in his own eyes. 

* * *

It didn’t take long to pack his few belongings. When he was done, he looked around; his eyes lingered on where Win’s basket had stood on his makeshift table during her visit, then he told himself to dwell on other things and left.

He hadn’t come far when a voice from the shadows said, “Long time no see, Mr. Morse.”

A shiver ran down his spine.

The last time he’d heard that voice had been on the telephone this afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST


	11. But I Never Saw A Man Who Looked

Morse wanted to move; he wanted to run away; he wanted to scream right into Lott’s face.

Instead, he stood still as stone as he walked up to him. He couldn’t do a thing.

“You know” Lott said conversationally, “if you didn’t want anyone to find you, you should have been more careful. Always sticking out like a sore thumb. But then, I suppose you can’t help it.”

Morse was grabbing the handles of the cheap old duffle bag so hard they cut into his palm. He swallowed.

“It was all too easy. Just find the weird one not even the other homeless guys want to talk to.”

Morse still couldn’t speak. He didn’t know if his voice had fled or if all his muscles had suddenly decided to stop cooperating, and he would be stuck here forever.

Or until Lott…

“I’ve got nothing against the Old Man personally” Lott continued, strolling up to him, “He’s a good enough copper. But he fails to see the big picture. Too concerned with the cases and justice and such like. Really, should have known that he’d go crazy over your case. But then, we know the truth, don’t we? You committed a crime and…”

“I did nothing”. Finally, he found himself able to form words. “I did nothing, and –“

“You confessed, Mr. Morse, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“_Because you made me_”. It was the first time, the first opportunity he’d ever had to tell him to his face.

“Oh, is that what you’ve been telling Fred? But of course it is. Always there for the hopeless cases, is Fred.” Lott leaned close enough that Morse could feel his breath on his face. “But he’s not like you. He’s got family, friends – lots of people who’d suffer if he got hurt. Lots of people that, if hurt, would make Fred suffer. So, you see, we got a few problems there.”

“I’m leaving” Morse mumbled. “I was just leaving, and I won’t come back, I promise –“

“Oh, you promise. Of course, the word of a felon is something I have every trust in.”

“I said I was leaving” he pleaded. “Please –“

He’d begged like this six years ago too, and like then, it fell on deaf ears.

“I think it would be best if I gave you something to remember before. You know, so you always know not to come back to Oxford.”

And he punched him straight in the face. Morse let go of the duffle bag as he staggered a few steps back, Lott immediately upon him again.

But that was his mistake.

For Morse was not the young college student he’d put into prison.

No, Morse was now the man who had survived jail; and with all the instinctive movements he had learned there, he got out of the way before he even realized he was doing it.

Lott just grinned. “Oh, learned a few things, have we?” and lunged at him again.

And then, unexpectedly, Morse wasn’t scared anymore.

Instead, hot, burning fury surged through his veins.

This man had taken everything away from him just because he’d felt like it, just because he _could_.

And when Lott went on to attack him, Morse used all the knowledge he’d acquired in prison.

A turn, a kick in the stomach, and then Lott was lying in front of him, gasping for air.

And Morse wanted to continue. The part of him that had hardened and changed and turned into something else in prison wanted to continue, to watch Lott bleed, to –

To –

But there was another part of him, a part that thought of Tommy and PC Strange and the Thursdays, especially the Thursdays, because Lott had threatened them and they needed to know.

And so he took off.

* * *

Morse was taking a while, Win thought, glancing at her watch, but she didn’t mention it. She didn’t want anyone to worry. After all, it took a while to walk down to the canal, and there was no reason for him to hurry.

At least she thought so until the doorbell rang and kept ringing.

“What the –“

Fred said, laying his pipe aside and getting up. “He must know there’s no reason to –“ and he hurried to open the door, Win, Joan and Sam following him.

* * *

Morse hadn’t realized what he must look like until the door opened and Win called out, “Oh God, what happened?”

As he had run back to the Thursdays’ house, he hadn’t felt a thing; he’d been too focused on getting there and warning them; but now, he felt his nose throb and realized quite suddenly that he was bleeding.

“I – I met Lott”. Oddly, he sounded more shaken than he felt; he was probably in a bit of shock, he decided.

Win made a noise, then began, “Joan –“

“First-aid kit. Got it” and she hurried away.

“Sam –“

“Hot water is coming” he piped up, skipping into the kitchen.

“But Win –“ Morse began, “There is something I have to –“

“What you have to do is sit there and let yourself be taken care of” she said.

“Was it Lott?” DI Thursday growled. “How many hits did he get in?”

“A few”. Morse couldn’t remember the details. He realized. Only that he’d won this time, and it had been Lott who’d been lying helpless on the floor.

He hated how good it had made him feel.

Win grabbed his elbow and gently but firmly led him to the kitchen table. “Sit down, Morse.”

He complied. “Lott said that –“

“Hush, dear, when we’re done with this” she said, her fingers carefully examining his nose. “Nothing broken, thank God.”

DI Thursday was muttering something to himself in the hallway, and she suddenly stood up straight, alarm in her eyes. “Fred Thursday, you better not be putting on your coat and hat right now!”

An embarrassed silence followed. “You come in here!”

He emerged hatless and coatless. “But Win –“

“Storming off to punch Lott won’t solve anything, and you heard Morse – there is something he has to tell us once this is dealt with.”

“But I’m sure I could –“

“Sh, dear, just until your nose is all fixed up.”

Sam had meanwhile heated some water, and Joan soon came back with the first-aid kit.

Morse submitted to Win’s administrations while taking in that the others were studying him with concern. DI Thursday’s hands were balled into fists on the table.

When Win was satisfied, she nodded.

“Thank you” he said quietly.

“There’s nothing to thank me for, dear. Alright, you can talk now.”

And so he did.

While he was speaking, he noticed Win laying a hand on DI Thursday’s arm, presumably to calm him down and stop him from storming off after all.

When Morse had finished speaking, DI Thursday burst pout, “That bastard.” He took a deep breath. “Where did he find you?”

“Near my trailer.” He hesitated. But the Thursdays deserved the whole truth. “I was going to leave Oxford.”

“Oh Morse!” Wine exclaimed, “Whatever for?”

“I thought without me – I thought without me there would be no reason for Lott to go after you.”

“Oh dear” she said, taking his hand, “Don’t worry about us.”

“Yes, we can take care of ourselves” DI Thursday agreed. “Right, Joan, Sam?”

They nodded enthusiastically.

“But if Lott –“ Morse trued.

DI Thursday shook his head. “Don’t get me wrong, he is a bastard, but he’s not that stupid. And now he has a witness who can prove that he threatened my family to begin with.“

“But I am not a reliable witness, at least not to many people.”

“We’ve been through that.”

Morse thought about it for a moment then decided, “You are right. If I want things to change, I need to go forward, not run away.”

* * *

Fred was surprised. There was something different about the lad, and he wasn’t talking about the bloody nose Win had so carefully cleaned up

And then he realized.

Seeing Lott on the floor, hurt and vulnerable, had shown Morse that the monster in his memories was human after all, that he could be beaten.

Granted, Fred would have preferred it if this could have been learned without violence, but then, he wasn’t exactly one to talk in that regard.

“That’s all well and good” Win decided, “But you still need to go to bed. You’re exhausted.”

It was true; the dark circles were back under Morse’s eyes.

Fred for one wasn’t surprised. It had been an exhausting day by all accounts.

“I –“ Morse was interrupted by a yawn. “Maybe I am a little tired” he conceded.

In Morse-speak that probably meant he was ready to drop.

“Offer still stands” Sam said before Win could beta him to it, “You can absolutely have my bed for the night.”

Morse looked at him with something that Fred, if forced to describe it, would have called reluctant longing.

“You know how comfortable the couch is” he insisted, “I’ll survive one night on it. And you got me out of work for tomorrow” he grinned.

“Plus I won’t hear his snores through the wall for one night” Joan was quick to add.

“I don’t snore.”

“Because you can always tell what you’re up to when you’re asleep.”

“Alright” Morse quietly agreed.

“I’ll get you one of Sam’s old pyjamas!” Win immediately decided and hurried out the kitchen, lest Morse protest.

“So, Morse” Sam asked as soon as she was out of earshot, “And what did he look like after you were done with him?”

Morse pondered that for a moment then answered simply, “Small.”

Fred had been right. Whatever the circumstances, seeing Lott down had been good for him.

Win came back, holding the promised clothing. “There you go, dear. I think we can all agree that it’s your turn to use the bathroom first.”

None of them voiced the thought that Morse was now firmly installed at their place for the time being. It was all too obvious.

Morse thanked her, then went upstairs.

Joan shook her head. “Really, running away, as if you wouldn’t have tried everything to find him, Dad.”

“I don’t think he’s quite there yet, pet” Fred replied.

“He will be” Win said. “Did you notice that he didn’t protest all too much when Sam offered him his bed?”

“And he looked much less like a deer caught in the headlights, even with the bloody nose and all” Joan agreed.

Silently, Fred did as well. He could only hope that this development would remain.

“Alright, it’s been a long day for all of us. We should try and get some sleep.”

“I’ll make up the sofa for you” Win told Sam.

“You really don’t have to Mum –“

“Don’t worry about it, I want to check up on Morse anyway.”

Fred wasn’t surprised to her a few minutes later that their guest was already sound asleep.

“Looked like he tried to read, but was out as soon as his head hit the pillow. I put the book on the nightstand.”

“What book?” Fred asked, curious.

“Tennyson’s poems.”

Really, how anyone could have picked him for a robber…

“I’m just glad everything turned out well” Win said, and Fred realized how worried she’d been for Morse.

“Me, too. I knew Lott wouldn’t have any difficulties finding Morse, but I thought he’d wait. May own fault, really.”

“No one here is at fault, Fred, but that bad… man.” It was about as much swearing as Win ever got up to.

She must really like Morse. But the, Fred already liked him a lot too, and he was ready to bet that Joan and Sam did as well.

“We’ll let him sleep in tomorrow again” Win told Fred once they had all repaired to their respective bedrooms. “A bit of rest, a good breakfast, and he’ll be right as ran.”

And Win would make sure he ate it, Fred thought with a smile.

Despite everything that had happened, he found himself feeling optimistic.

After all, Morse was safe and sound for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, alright, so I just wanted Morse to punch Lott in the face. And Win being her usual motherly self. I had way too much fun writing her ordering Fred to stay.


	12. So Wistfully At The Day

To no one’s surprise, Morse was still asleep when they settled down for family breakfast the next morning. Win had checked up on him – of course – and reported that he seemed to be calm and resting, and that was all they could ask for, really.

He had arranged that Strange would pick him up for the foreseeable future a few days ago, and now was damn glad of it; he didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he’d been forced to live through a car ride with Lott.

“Now, be careful” Win said to him as she passed him his sandwich, “Come home safe.”

“Don’t you worry about me” he kissed her. “Just make sure Morse’s comfortable.”

“Oh, you don’t have to think of that; he’ll be fine. I’ll make sure he doesn’t try and leave again.”

Suddenly, Fred found himself rather glad that he’d never been the one to keep an extra pair of cuffs in the house; Win might have used them on Morse.

“And if you see Lott…” Win trailed off, then shook her head. “Just don’t punch him. I know it won’t be easy, but…”

“Don’t worry” he repeated, “Actually, I am curious to see what kind of damage Morse inflicted…”

“Fred Thursday, you are supposed to set an example for the citizens of Oxford. Still…”

Again, he’d probably never seen Win as unwilling to forgive a fellow man as now, when it came to Lott. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good.”

He left with a smile on his face.

Strange was waiting for him. “Good morning, sir.”

“Morning, Constable.” For a moment he wondered if they should wait until they were in the car, then decided that would be too paranoid, “I better tell you right away. Morse and Lott got into a fight last night.”

Strange stared at him. “Is he alright?”

It was clear who he meant. “Yes. Seems like he gave as good as he got. And our Win immediately looked after his wounds.”

They got in the car, Strange looking pensive. Eventually he asked, “Sorry sir but does that mean that DS Lott –“

Fred couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. “I think he’ll be a sight to behold.”

Strange made a noise that took him a moment to recognize as a suppressed chuckle.

He knew they technically should have been on their colleague’s side, but who was he kidding? Even if Morse had been guilty after all, they would probably have enjoyed hearing about anyone giving Lott a run for his money.

“Probably learned how to fight while in prison” Strange mused. “Should have thought of that before he went after him.”

To be perfectly honest, Fred was ready to bet that none of them had thought of it. Morse always looked like he needed to be protected, instead of others being protected from him.

* * *

After they had arrived at the station, DI Thursday went straight into his office, probably so he couldn’t betray that he knew all too well what had happened.

Jim didn’t have the luxury. As soon as he was alone, WPC Ford, who’d joined the station a few months prior, stepped up to him, a smile on her face. “Have you heard yet, Jim?”

“No, what is it?” he asked, hoping that he looked and sounded as innocent as he was trying to be.

“DS Lott. He walked into a door last night.” She paused for a moment then added “And it must have been _quite_ the door.”

It wasn’t surprising to learn that DS Lott wasn’t exactly the most popular guy.

“Oh? It look bad?”

“Well, as someone who has already broken up her fair share of pub fights, let me just say… I do find it interesting that DS Lott apparently felt the need to attack a door, and that the door punched back.”

Of course no one believed that cover story.

She winked at him. “You’ll see.”

Within a few moments he did, indeed, see.

He’d barely had the time to make his way to the desk where his daily orders were kept when Lott stormed in.

Oh my. Morse had indeed got a few punches in, and they seemed to have been good ones.

Jim had to suppress a smile, then felt a little bad about it. A bastard or not, Lott was still a colleague.

On the other hand, thinking of Morse in a cell for five long years…

“Good morning sir” he said lightly. “Heard what happened to you-. Sorry about that. Must have been a strong, solid door.”

He studied him with suspicious eyes but Jim simply looked at him as he always did. Then he hummed something and ran off, probably to annoy some poor bugger on the street just because he could.

* * *

Fred, if he was being honest, would have loved to see how Lott looked like today but didn’t want to draw suspicion to himself by appearing too eager.

And so, he concentrated on Mary Tremlett’s case once more.

The crosswords. There was something about the crosswords…

Let’s say she had met with her lover, and let’s say that it had been Stromming.

Fred’s fingers drummed on the table.

What if…

He needed to know more about how those crosswords got to the paper.

* * *

When he heard the truth, he immediately wished he hadn’t.

Miles Percival bringing the letter to the mail… Now Crisp and Lott would insist that he close the case. Not that Lott had any right to demand such a thing, but with Crisp at his side…

And Fred still felt certain that Miles Percival couldn’t have done it. Why, he couldn’t say.

He simply didn’t seem the type.

With a sarcastic smile, he decided that perhaps one of these days he should try and think logically before looking at young man and choosing to believe in their innocence.

* * *

Morse wasn’t surprised that they had let him sleep, nor that it was after ten. He had been rather tired, and Win had been quite right when she’d said it had been a long and exhausting day…

Still, he was baffled when a knock on the door was followed by Win with a tray in her hands. “I thought you could have breakfast in bed!”

“Win…” They looked at one another and he decided it wasn’t worth it. She’d win anyway.

She smiled happily and put the tray on his lap. “There you go.”

He was rather sure he hadn’t eaten so much in the last month as she had heaped on his plate. “Ahm…”

“Eat as much as you can. You need to get your strength up.”

“I floored a man yesterday” he reminded her.

She tutted. “Lott is hardly the youngest anymore, is he? And I’d rather you not get into any more fights now.”

“I didn’t get into a fight” he said quietly.

“Oh, of course – I didn’t mean you were looking for it, dear!” She once more ran her fingers through his har. “Now you have breakfast and then decide what you want to do. You can go back to sleep too, if you’d like.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Win.”

“I’ll see you downstairs then”.

And with another soft smile, she left him to it.

Already, he was beginning to wonder how he could have been thinking of leaving all of this behind.

* * *

“Got some mothering in before lunch, Mum?”

“You keep peeling the potatoes, young man.”

It was said without heat however, and Sam, who, like they had decided yesterday, had called in sick to work, grinned at her. “I’m just glad he’s doing okay.”

“Me too” she sighed. “It must have been a dreadful shock seeing that man again.”

“Yes, but then he used him as a punching bag and –“ when he saw her expression he added, “Come on, you can’t tell me you feel bad for the guy!”

“No I don’t” she admitted, “I’d just rather he and Morse not have met.”

“I bet” Sam said with another grin, “He does, too.”

* * *

It was on his way back into the station that Fred met Lott.

Oh. The lad had given him a good trashing alright. Well, he had already admitted that he didn’t remember how often he’d hit and kicked him, and that was not surprising. He’d been preoccupied at the time.

Still, Lott didn’t just sport one, but two black eyes, and a busted lip.

Yes, Morse had learned how to fight in prison. “DS Lott? What happened?” He couldn’t den himself the satisfaction of asking.

“Ran into a door, sir. I have to be more careful.”

Fred thought it might be time to do some warning himself. “Yes” he said slowly “It would do some people good to be.”

Lott shot him a suspicious glare as he went back to his desk.

* * *

Morse did indeed doze off for a bit after breakfast, mostly because he felt too full to move – but then got up. Win had put out clothes for him again, and he knew from yesterday that he was welcome to wash up as much as he wanted.

He couldn’t help buts tare at the man in the mirror. Even with the bruise on his face, he looked--- different. As if some weight had lifted off his shoulders.

A week ago, he would never have thought it possible. But that was before Win had all bust imprisoned him once more, albeit using kindness, he thought with a smile, then started. When he had been let out, he would have shied away from any thought of prison.

Maybe she was a witch and put something in his food. It would have explained a few things.

* * *

“Hullo Morse” Sam said when he entered the kitchen bearing the tray with the now-empty plates. “Mum’s gone to do some shopping, but she’ll be back soon, and I’m supposed to tell you you’re welcome to do whatever you like – have something more to eat, or listen to music, or read.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry again” he told him, moving to wash and dry the plates.

“She won’t like that you have done that” Sam replied with a s mile, then continued in what was admittedly a rather good impression of his mother’s voice, “And remind him he’s a _guest_, dear. Don’t even try and think about getting him to help.”

“Do you need any? That’s a lot of potatoes.”

“She won’t rest until you’ve put on at least a stone” he told him. “But sure, if you want to… We just have to make sure we hear her so you can get away.”

“I don’t think she’ll be that angry” he said with a smile.

“Maybe not with you” Sam grumbled “Two days under our roof and already the favourite kid.”

Morse’s heart beat faster as being referred to as such but he told himself not to be silly. “Well then, hand me a few of them” he said by way of changing the subject of the conversation.

It was when they had sat down together that he realized he was alone with Sam Thursday for the first time.

At first, silence reigned, then Sam began, “So you really like opera, huh.”

“Always have. Since I was a child.”

“I can’t even keep all those guys apart” he confided in him. “The only thing I can do with music is keep a beat, and barely at that. That one time, we had a test in music class and –“

* * *

When Win came home, she heard something she’d never heard before.

Morse was laughing loudly and carefree, and her heart soared. She wanted to hear that much more often.

A glance into the kitchen proved that Sam had roped him into helping him with the potatoes. She wondered if she should intervene, but then Morse laughed again. “You thought T.S. Eliot was a composer? Really?”

“How was I supposed to know about those weird cat poems?”

WIn could only watch as his and Sam’s banter continued, another thought that darted into her mind making her smile.

_Just like brothers. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was going to work on the case, and then Sam and Morse bonding time happened and I was like... ahm I'm not mad at it XD. Hope you enjoy!


	13. I Never Saw A Man Who Looked

Joan was having her lunch-break sandwich. Just like always, she’d decided to let the world be the world for the moment (she was rather certain that was a quote from somewhere; Morse would probably know) and gone to the park to do so.

Despite, or perhaps because of Dad’s hat stand rule, she’d made a habit of picking up on whatever information about his cases she would get; and now, with Morse in the house, she had more than enough to dwell on.

She had just sat down and bitten into her sandwich when a shadow fell across her lap. Joan immediately knew it was bad news. One developed a knack for realizing that, working with people.

She’d never seen the man standing in front of her before. “Hello. Miss Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yes” she replied simply.

“Thought so. Your father has your portrait on his desk.”

Oh. And just like that, Joan knew who she was dealing with. He probably wanted to know where Morse was, and how he was doing. Well, he could ask her all he wanted, he wouldn’t get an answer. “So you’re one of Dad’s colleagues, Mr. –“

“Sergeant. Detective Sergeant Lott.”

She was ridiculously pleased that she had managed to annoy him. “Sergeant. Is there something wrong?”

“Oh no”. He sat down next to her without her having asked him to do so. “I just saw you and thought I’d come introduce myself.”

She imagined sitting opposite of him in an interview room, being asked the same questions over and over again. She imagined being told that no, she couldn’t go to sleep, simply because she hadn’t told him what she wanted to hear. She imagined those hands balled into fists as they slammed int her face over and over again…

Small wonder Dad had been ready to go and beat him up yesterday. Still, it had probably been a good idea for Mum to stop him. “Hello, then” she said as innocently as she could.

“As a matter of fact” he said, his voice dropping, “I have been rather worried about your father lately. Seems to me he tends to forget who his friends and colleagues are and who –“

She stood up. “Mr. Lott” she announced pointedly, “If you have a problem with my dad – your boss – you better take this up with him directly. I am hardly the person to talk to.”

And she walked off, wishing she could slap the man. The nerve…

Even if she hadn’t known what she did, she decided, she would have preferred Morse to Lott any day.

Still, she decided against ringing up Dad and telling him immediately. She didn’t want him to cause a scene at the station.

* * *

Fred looked up to find Strange hovering near his office. “AH. Constable, do come in.”

He did so. “I am sorry sir, but I was wondering… how’s Morse doing=”

“Well, undoubtedly. Win and Sam are looking after him as we speak.”

Although, thinking of what he had done to Lott, he probably didn’t need as much looking-after as they had originally believed.

Ah well. Some tender loving care, then. Whatever was needed, Win would provide it, that was certain.

“Good. And the case, sir?”

He sighed. “Miles Percival was apparently the one who brought the crosswords to the mail; and Doctor Stromming claims that he seems to have exchanged them for another pone that was intended for the next week instead.”

Strange blinked. “That’s good news, though, sir, isn’t it? Seems like he was the culprit after all.”

It would have been good news, if not everything in Fred had screamed that Miles Percival had been innocent.

Then, Strange, without knowing that he did it, pointed them in the right direction. “Must have been planned” he mused, “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have known to swipe a crosswords puzzle from his professor, would he.”

“No, I suppose not” Fred replied.

Later, he would blame his distraction with everything that was going on for not realizing.

* * *

Win had returned without them realizing, but Morse had been right; she was far from angry to find them working together.

It had been quite a while since he had laughed like this; Sam was certainly good company.

“Just so we know, Mum, how many people are you planning on feeding? Pretty sure you just caused another Irish potato famine” Sam teased Win.

“With all the food you can pit away it’d be a small wonder, dear. Now, Morse, what would you like to do today?”

In truth, what he really would have liked to do was to work on the case against Lott, but he knew he had to be patient.

He saw the amused glance Sam threw his way and knew he was thinking of what he’d told him earlier, about “already being the favourite kid.”

“I –“

“Want to play cards? Mum’s not too fond of them, and Joan tends to cheat” Sam suggested.

He nodded somewhat shyly; he’d never been good at cards, and could only hope that he would remember the rules as they went on.

* * *

Win was busy in the kitchen when Joan rang. “Mum? Just a word of warning, Lott’s sneaking around.”

“Are you alright?” she asked immediately.

“Oh yes, don’t worry; we were in a public space, and now I’m back at the bank. He couldn’t do a thing.”

“Have you told Dad yet?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure I shouldn’t wait until tonight. You know how he can be, and he’s already angry at Lott about Morse.”

That, Win thought, was an understatement. “Fine, dear. Just take care.”

“Don’t worry mum” she repeated, “I will.”

Win hung up and went back into the kitchen.

“Mum?” Sam called out.

“Just Joan calling in.”

“Is everything alright?”

How Morse had already developed a knack for realizing when Things weren’t just from her tone of voice, she would never know. “Yes, dear.”

She didn’t want him to think he was putting them in danger again. Really, that poor lad, believing he had to get out of Oxford just to keep them safe.

Now, though, he appeared perfectly comfortable, chatting away with Sam.

She smiled as she listened to them.

* * *

“Boys? Lunch’s ready!” She called out some time later.

Morse needed a bit longer than Sam to emerge from the living room, and she saw at once that his eyes looked rather misty.

It took her a moment to realize that she’d called out to them as if they were indeed…

Oh.

“Now, I hope you like –“

“Potatoes” Sam sighed. “all the potatoes you could ever ask for.”

“You like them” she reminded him.

“We’ve spent too much time together.

“Stop it, young man – you know that Morse helped you.”

“It really was nothing” he said, sounding rather thick with emotion.

“Now sit down dear, while Sam and I set the table.”

She heard their youngest mumble something like “I told you so” at Morse, but chose to ignore it.

* * *

Could it have been Stromming? Fred wondered. But then, he had no motive to get rid of Mary, had he. A professor would always e believe, rather than a school girl; if he’d grown tired of their affair, he’d simply have had to end it and all would have been well.

Even if his wife had probably known… they usually did, at least in Fred’s experience. And, he thought with a smile, he would never have been able to get anything of that sort past his Win.

That reminded him.

He called home.

“Oh everything is perfectly fine, love” Win told him brightly. “Sam and Morse had a game of cards, and now Morse is explaining his music to him. It’s quite the scene.”

Fred wondered if she knew she sounded like the proud mother of two small toddlers, but there was little use in asking. “So no problems?”

“None at all. If anything, I think Morse is feeling better than before. Although I don’t condone violence as a rule.”

“Lott is quite the sight” he admitted. “He got quite a few punches in.”

Win made a noise that sounded like she wanted to rejoice but was kept from it by her better nature. “Well, he’s safe now. I think it’ll be best if he lies low for a few days.”

Fred thought the same. Keep the lad in the house. Lott couldn’t very well demand entry into his home, no matter what happened.

It was the one ray of light on an otherwise very frustrating day.

* * *

Joan came home, as she usually did, around five. “Hello boys” she called out, “Did you have a nice holiday while I was slaving away?”

“Come on Joanie, just this once…” Sam said. “You know I’m, going back to work tomorrow. Also, Morse is much more honest than you at cards.”

“I just like to take my chances.”

“Cheating, you mean.”

“No, Sam Thursday, I very much don’t mean that. Hello, Morse.”

“Hello… Joan” he said with a slight blush.

Really, Mum was right – he should gain a few pounds; Joan was ready to bet that he’d be very handsome then. “Nose’s looking better.”

“Feeling it, too.”

Glad to hear it.” She then spontaneously reached up and kissed his cheek.

When she drew back, Morse’ face was bright red.

“I think you broke him Joanie” Sam laughed.,

“Oh, if that can faze him… please, he just beat a man to the ground.”

“Joan” Mum said quietly; she’d just left the kitchen to greet her.

She gave her a smile, which seemed to placate her. “Anything I can do?”

“You can set the table.”

“I –“ Morse managed to say.

“Oh no Morse you’re a guest” she told him; he looked like he’d heard that sentence quite often enough in the last few days, and Joan decided he couldn’t blame him. He probably had.

* * *

By dinner time, Fred was feeling more and more hopeless. They simply had nothing to go on but Lott’s and Crisp’s certainty that it must have been Miles Percival who did it; and well, that certainty had led to Morse’s arrest too, hadn’t it?

Still, he couldn’t help but smile when he came home and heard their – and heard the children and Morse talking and laughing away in the living room. They, like Win, quickly emerged, Morse looking much better than he had the previous day. “Hello Joan, Sam, Morse. How are you?”

“Feeling very well, Inspector” he told him, his eyes sparkling.

No, this was not the same creature he’d encountered such a short time ago in his trailer – this was a young man who was comfortable with his surroundings and his – dare he say it – friends.

Fred felt his mood brighten immediately.

“Dinner’s ready” Win told him, kissing him, “You’re rather late, love.”

“I know. The case…” he trailed off. “Might talk about it later” he added to Morse.

“Of course he gets to hear all about the case” Joan complained.

Fred was about to object when, to his surprise, Morse made a hand gesture he knew all too well – it was similar to the one Sam or Joan employed when they promised one another that they would talk later, away from their parents’ prying ears.

Really, what _had_ Win been doing to Morse? Not that he was complaining, mind.

And really, if he wanted to stay, he was more than welcome to.

He put away his coat and hat and sat down to have family dinner. Which really; it was; Morse hadn’t felt like an intruder before, and he certainly didn’t feel like one now. If anything, it felt like…

He concentrated on his plate.

Morse didn’t protest anymore when Win gave him second helpings, and he happily repaired with Fred to the living room afterwards.

At this rate, Win would have him up to a proper weight and a bright and happy lad within the week.

“The case…” Fred began, pouring them both a glass, “I figured since you are something of an expert, you might be able to help.”

“Any way I can, Inspector.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I know that chapter fell off the rails. It was all going so well, and now... idek I am just sorry.


	14. With Such A Wistful Eye

“So“ Morse repeated after Fred had told him all there was to know – breaking several rules in the process of course, but when had he ever paid attention to that when it came to the lad – “Miles Percival brought the envelope to the mail.”

“Yes he did.”

He pondered that thought for a moment. “But how is he supposed to have switched the crosswords? According to Mrs. Stromming” a blush that Fred ignored, even if it did make him smile “he came by quite accidentally, didn’t he? Is he just supposed to have been carrying that other crosswords with him?”

It was then that Thursday remembered Strange’s words and cursed. “Either Miles Percival was a clairvoyant, or Mrs. Stromming knows something and is lying about it.”

“But… she’s an artist!” Morse protested immediately.

“That may be, lad, but even artists can go bad” she replied wondering how Morse had gone through what he had gone through and still held on to such beliefs. It was trucking in a way, he supposed.

“I’ll question her about it tomorrow.”

Morse’s eyes were gleaming. “There is the possibility that someone else intervened, of course – enough people must have handled the puzzle until it went to the press.”

“And known about Stromming and Mary?”

Morse fell silent, contemplating this.

It really was remarkably like discussing a case with a colleague, Fred decided. Morse was certainly sharp enough to go to the police, and would have made a damn fine detective, even if he had envisioned himself as an Oxford man at some point.

“It’s just… do we know for certain that she was aware of the affair? And what proof do we have?” he asked with a smile that Fred didn’t like at all. “Considering proof is very important.”

“Of course it is” he said lightly, deciding to risk it in consideration of the lad’s new view of things. “After all, what kind of police station would we be if we didn’t think that?”

Morse stared at him and for a moment, he feared he’d said the wrong thing, but then he just laughed. There was something Win had said to him when they had managed a moment to themselves – that today she had heard Morse laugh like never before; and it was true.

“Well, I am glad you all hold yourself to such a high standard” he eventually said when he had calmed down.

“It’s necessary.”

Morse shook his head. “It’s completely possible I have gone a little crazy in the past few days.”

“That’s alright; we wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Morse glanced at him “You really wouldn’t, would you” he eventually said, quietly, and Fred realized that more had happened than just him giving Lott a run for his money – he’d slowly started to accept that they did indeed care for him and like him.

He would have every reason to be thankful for it, granted what awaited him the next day when he came to work.

* * *

Sam had once more insisted that Morse could have his bed; however, that didn’t explain why, when Fred went downstairs to have a glass of water shortly after they all had retired, he heard voices in the living room.

And then he realized.

So much for leaving work at the doorstep. He knew well enough that the children had been curious about what he did for a long time; and it seemed like Morse wasn’t able to tell them no.

He told Win, sounding, he believed, appropriately resigned. “They all stole to the living room to share secrets, it seems.”

“Oh Fred, as long as it makes Morse feel at home… and he only knows what you told him, anyway.”

Problem, was, he’d told Morse everything, hadn’t he. He didn’t tell her that, though.

“And really, what harm can it do? They’ll just grow a little bit closer, that’s all.”

Well, if she put it like that.

* * *

“So this Rosalind Calloway is famous?” Sam asked.

“Yes” Morse answered, only slightly annoyed at having her referred to that way.

“Don’t worry about it, Sam can’t distinguish a cha-cha from a waltz” Joan told him.

“Yes, he did divulge that information.”

“See? No reason to fret.” She paused. “Makes it all the more confusing why her husband would cheat on her, though.”

“People sometimes do very strange things for stupid reasons” Morse said quietly.

He should know.

She looked stricken. “Oh, I didn’t mean –“

“I know, Joan, I know.” It still felt rather… unnecessarily intimidate to call her by her first name, but she wouldn’t have it any other way, especially since he addressed her brother as Sam, so he made the effort. “It’s just… sometimes…”

She reached out and squatted his hand in the same way her mother did. “Of course. That’s just natural I expect.”

“But hey, there are positive sides to everything” Sam, who could indeed always find the good things about any given situation, as Morse had learned, piped up, “After all, you’re here now.”

When that had turned into a good thing, Morse would never know, but it felt nice to hear it, all the same.

* * *

Fred had decided to, if not openly accuse him of anything, at the very least drop a few hints at Lott’s behaviour to Crisp again. Try as he might, he couldn’t believe that their boss had so completely let go of all care when it came to corrupt coppers; and so he went into his office only to find it empty.

But he did see the picture, and immediately recognized it.

Mary Tremlett’s classmate.

Half an hour later, he was at the school, talking to her. What he learned made his stomach turn. Just imagining the same thing happening to Joanie when she was that age…

He had never thought much of Teddy Samuels, but he hadn’t believed him as bad as this. He knew that Lott took bribes from him, of course – that much was common knowledge; but finally he had the missing piece of the puzzle, he knew why Crisp was holding his hand over Lott.

Using his kid as leverage. That goddamn bastard.

He stormed into the station, “Constable Strange, care to join me?”

He took one look at his face and apparently decided he should go with him. And who, Fred would later think, could blame him.

He wasn’t exactly in the best of moods.

When they arrived at the Samuel’s place he said “Might as well wait in the car, Constable.”

“Don’t worry about me, sir; I don’t mind” Strange said and they got out together.

When Samuels didn’t want to talk, he and Strange traded a glance.

A moment later, Samuels was on the floor, clutching his cheek.

Fifteen minutes after that, they were having a pint in the pub, staring at the pictures of young girls who hadn’t known any better and had been abused for simply being a b it naïve.

“It’s a shame, sir, that’s what it is” Strange eventually said, “Them all being so young. Never understood what any chap got out of that.”

“There are some very bad people around, Constable” he told him, thinking about how neither Samuels nor Lott had apparently ever had any qualms about exploiting the young and vulnerable and doing what they wanted with them.

* * *

He called home during lunchtime to the by now usual cheerful report from Win. “Morse’s been helping me with the garden, and so handy he is, too. We’ll have the most beautiful bellflowers of the block, I am sure. I’m keeping him in the house for now, like you said, but he doesn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

Probably because he hadn’t lived in a house for so long, Fred thought. “Glad to hear it.”

“Fred, is everything alright?”

He sighed. “Not really”. He hesitated. He had always thought the hat stand rule was the best way to go, but if anything, Morse was proving him wrong., The children certainly hadn’t looked the worse for wear during breakfast (and it was only much later that Fred would realize he had already included Morse in that category then) and he knew well enough that Win could handle anything thrown her way. “I found out why Crisp was so tolerant of Lott, and it’s bad. His – Crisp’s – daughter is involved. She’s sixteen.”

“Oh Fred”.

“I know. Well, I handled it as best as I could, but there’s always a chance things might go wrong.”

“I’m sure they won’t” Win told him. “You just come home safe, you hear?”

Despite the fact that she told him the same every morning, it made him smile.

* * *

Fred hadn’t seen or heard from Lott the whole day.

Later, he would fail to forgive himself for not taking that more seriously.

He was preoccupied with seeing Crisp and telling him the truth.

“Jere, sir. I burned the negatives, don’t worry.”

Crisp’s shoulders slumped. “She’s my daughter. I had no choice.”

No, Fred thought, he’d probably felt that he didn’t. But that hadn’t been the case six years ago, when he had allowed Lott to ruin a young man’s life just to have a quick success.

He didn’t tell him that.

* * *

It was just Morse and Win again, for now. Joan and Sam had left for work with strict instructions to “be a good boy and stay inside” from her, and a “listen to all the music you want, you know I don’t need it” from him.

He was currently helping Win with her garden. It had been quite a while since he’d done any physical labour, if he didn’t count trying and make his trailer – the trailer that already seemed like a distant memory of a nightmare – inhabitable, and he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time, especially since Win was very careful not to over-exercise either of them.

“That’s enough for now.”

“I am almost finished with the weeds” he pleaded with her.

“And you have been out in the sun for the past hour. Sit down and have a glass of lemonade, young man.”

By now, he knew much better than try and disobey.

“It’s a nice day” he told her somewhat shyly when they had sat down in the shade.

“It is” she answered happily. “The last few days have mostly been very nice, if you ask me.”

When Morse realized she was talking about him staying with them, he took another sup of his lemonade. It seemed easier than to answer.

* * *

There was something about Lott’s smile that told Fred he was up to no good the moment he entered his office. “Sir, a word?”

“Of course.”

He was still sporting the black eyes Morse had given him, which made Fred much happier than it should have.

But then, he couldn’t very well blame Morse for something he’d very much have liked to do himself, could he.

“I was going through Mary’s things one more time” he said, and how he was capable of making this sound lecherous, Fred would never know.

“Good call” he said for lack of anything else to say, “Did you find anything?”

He should have known that Lott’s smile could only mean something bad was going to happen.

“Here” he put down one of Mary Tremlett’s poetry books – ones of those Fred had only leafed through quickly before he had found the crosswords puzzle – “There appears to be a note on the back, sir. Of who she was scheduled to meet on Saturday. Under the cover, you see – he might have told her to keep it a secret.”

Fred knew he wouldn’t have overlooked that. Lott knew he wouldn’t have overlooked that, and yet still told him there was evidence only he had been able to find.

Alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind, Fred asked, “What do you mean?”

“Here, sir” he said, flipping open the back cover of the book. “I am not surprised. He’s a convicted felon you know. Although you might not be aware of it; after all, you were on holiday during the case…”

Fred’s blood ran cold, his boy catching up faster than his mind.

For there it stood, for all to read, in what at least _looked_ like Mary’s handwriting.

_Saturday, 7 pm. Bagley Wood. E. Morse. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISTS


	15. Upon That Little Tent Of Blue

“Now“ Lott said smoothly, “The name may not ring a bell sir – I believe you were ohm holiday at the time – but E. Morse is most likely Endeavour Morse. He robbed a bank six years ago. I arrested him and he did his time, but some just don’t learn their lesson –“

A forgery. Had to be. Lott didn’t know that Morse himself had given them the tip where to find Mary’s body – and why should he have done that if he’d had anything to do with it? Plus, this was Morse; on any given day, Fred would have believed him instead of Lott.

But this…

Lott knew, of course. Lott knew that he had been working the case and this was his way of taking revenge.

Still, at least he had brought Crisp the pictures. He wouldn’t have him to look out for him anymore. “And do you happen to know where he is?”

“Last thing I heard, he was squatting near the canal.”

“Well, better try and find him, then” Fred said. “Get his statement.”

“Of course, sir.”

He left.

Fred stepped up to the door. “Constable Strange, a word?”

* * *

Strange stared at the words in the book. “This makes no sense.”

“Does if you know Lott forged Mary’s handwriting.”

Strange’s eyes were wide. “You think he did?”

“I’m sure he did” he said simply.

Strange looked down at the evidence once more and wallowed. “I don’t think Morse would do well, being back in the interrogation room.”

No, he wouldn’t, as Fred well knew. And the lad had been doing so much better. By the minute, really.

Dragging him back to the station would ruin all of that.

“Sir, I am not asking where Morse is, or if you are absolutely sure _where_ he is right now, or if he’s still… I am just saying that he better stay put. _Wherever_ he is”.

Fred was very well aware that it was his duty to bring Morse in, but Strange was right – the last thing he wanted to see was him back in a cell.

* * *

Win knew something bad had happened from the way Fred’s voice sounded when she picked up the phone. “What is it?”

He told her.

She had to sit down.

This was absolutely impossible.

Morse, the nice boy who was currently reading in the living room, would never.

And that could only mean one thing.

She had known it was bad, she hadn’t known what lengths Lott would go to. “You can’t, Fred. You can’t bring him in” she pleaded, her knees feeling weak. “He won’t survive it.”

“I know” he sighed. “Just keep him inside, make sure no one knows he’s there.”

“I will” she vowed. “Should I tell him?”

A pause. Then, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

No, no it wouldn’t. Not when he had already once tried to run away.

“I’ll talk to Crisp, see what I can do. He owes me something now – and I won’t hesitate to use that fact if it helps Morse.”

“Oh Fred” she sighed.

“I know, pet, I know.”

* * *

Win was utterly determined not to let Morse know.

She’d only forgotten one thing.

Not only was he very smart and observant, he had also come to know her remarkably well for the fact that they had only met les than a week ago.

And so, when she came into the living room with two cups of tea and a smile that was perhaps a bit too bright, Morse immediately stood up. “Win? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Win” he said softly.

She put the cups on the table and realized she couldn‘t bring herself to lie to him.

She took a deep breath. “You have to promise to hear me out. And please believe me, Morse, when I say Fred is already working on it.”

* * *

He looked stunned completely and utterly stunned. “He wants to put me back in a cell” he said quietly, so very quietly, and she reached out to squeeze his hand.

“Fred won’t let that happen.”

“How? Are you goi8ng to smuggle me out of the city?” he snapped, then closed his eyes. “I’m sorry Win, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Yes you do. It’s all of this. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I – this is all my gault. I shouldn’t have punched him.”

“You were defending yourself” she reminded him.

“That may be, but now he’s after me again, and DI Thursday has to –“

Fred has to do absolutely nothing.”

“But it’s his duty to bring me in if –“

“Morse” she said gently, “Do you really think that his duty is worth more to him than you?”

The thought seemed not to have occurred to him yet. “But what is he going to do?”

“What he does best. Solve the case.”

“But…”

“No buts. Fred hasn’t been a policeman for such a long time for nothing. He’ll solve the case, prove that you had nothing to do with it, and in the meantime you lie low.”

“But what if –“

“What did I just say?” she interrupted him ever so quietly. “It’ll all work out, I promise, Morse.”

He took a deep and shuddering breath. “Thank you for the tea” he then said bravely, “I could very well use it. While I wait for this to blow over.”

She smiled. “That’s the spirit. You’ll see” she repeated herself. “You’ll see.”

Even if she herself wasn’t quite sure how Fred was going to proceed.

* * *

“Strange!” Lott approached him as soon as he left the Old Man’s office, and Jim was surprised at how strong his own reaction was.

How dare he. How dare he try and send Morse back to jail when all he had done was help them.

Suddenly he studied his bruises with even more satisfaction than before. “Yes, sir?” he hoped he sounded normal.

“Your beat takes you along the canal, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where the homeless squat in the trailers?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just a hunch, but you haven’t happened across a fellow called Morse there recently, have you?”

“No sir” he replied honestly. After all, they hadn’t met recently, he had known Morse for months.

“You see, we found proof that he may have met Mary right before she died” Lott confided in him. “Is a bit on the skinny side, redish hair. Thinks of himself as clever, but wasn’t enough enough not to get caught for armed robbery six years ago.”

Jim wanted to break his nose.

Small wonder that the Old Man now and then forgot himself when it came to crooks. “Armed robbery and now this?”

“There’s all sorts, Constable” Lott said. “Well, if you ever hear or see something from him, you know what to do.”

Yes, he did indeed know, but he could hardly tell Lott that.

He only hoped the Old Man had already called home and warned them.

* * *

Morse had done his best to reassure Win even though deep down, he mostly felt numb.

This was it. For years, this had been his worst nightmare, and now it was coming true.

Lott was after him again. Lott wanted to put him back in a cell.

He still woke up screaming now and then.

_Those four walls, always those same four walls, and nothing to do but stare at them all day. These four walls, locking him in, keeping him from the world outside, slowly taking away his memories of sunshine and open spaces…_

He took a deep breath and forced himself to listen to the Puccini LP he’d put on. He had to clam down. Win had said that DI Thursday would fix this, and he truest Win.

* * *

“So what exactly are you accusing DS Lott of now?” Crisp asked.

“No one is accusing anybody” Fred said patiently. “I just feel that he puts too much importance...”

“How can it _not_ be important who Mary was meeting?”

“We don’t even know yet when Mary died. Doctor DeBryn wasn’t sure.”

“Still…” Crisp trailed off, then continued, “Alright, let me be open about this. The thing is, Fred, I have the strong feeling that you are involved in something – something I should better not know about; and it is equally true that I have done some things… some things that Lott knows about. My daughter may be safe, but my position is not. I will retire at the earliest opportunity of course, but that doesn’t change a thing right now. If Lott has reasons to investigate, and it seems that he has…” he hesitated. “Unless you have proof?”

“There is a witness” Fred replied, thinking of Morse.

“A reliable one?”

“_I _consider him _very_ reliable, sir.”

“Meaning others probably won’t. I’m sorry Fred, there is nothing I can do.”

Alright, then.

He would have to solve the case quickly.

* * *

Lott was very aware what old Fred thought of him. He considered him a bastard, and a bad detective.

He would freely admit to being a bastard – he liked to see results, and sometimes what he had to do to get them _made_ him a bastard.

But he was not a bad detective, and he was not a fool.

And old Fred had gotten involved. And when he got involved, he sometimes stepped over the mark. Everyone knew that in the station.

And then that son of a bitch had to have fled _somewhere_ after their encounter.

Odd coincidence, wasn’t it, that Fred’s boy should be ill at home the one time that Lott called?

Very odd indeed.

* * *

“How are you, dear?”

“You don’t have to keep asking, Win” he told her as friendly as possible. What had happened was in no way her fault, and she had been honest with him.

“Still – just wanted to make sure. I’m so sorry you can’t sit in the garden today.”

They had decided that it would be for the best if he didn’t step foot outside at all, just in case anyone came snooping.

“It’s alright. The sofa _is_ comfortable, you know” he told her with a slight smile.

She grinned. “I know. Now, I’ll just skip to the store really quickly; be back in two shakes.”

He nodded and she kissed his forehead before leaving the room.

Morse suddenly realized that he was in no way as worried as Win had thought he would be, and it was all just because he come to trust all the Thursdays deeply.

And to think that a week ago, he was content to sit in his trailer and let the world pass him by.

* * *

When the phone rang, he automatically went to pick it up. Maybe it was DI Thursday with news.

“Thursday residence.”

“Hello, Mr. Morse.”

He recognized Lott’*s voice and immediately began, “I am afraid you are mist –“

“Oh, am I? Because I checked and Sam Thursday is at work. So I wonder who could be sitting in the Thursdays’ home right now.”

“I am actually a nephew of Mrs. Thursday’s –“

“Please just stop, Mr. Morse. We both know that’s not true. Now, listen to me very carefully. With you in the house and Fred knowing that we were looking for you… that doesn’t look good at all, does it?” He paused. Then he said, “I will make this short. Either you turn yourself in for questioning or that was it for dear Fred’s career. I await your decision.”

And he hung up.

Morse stared at the wall, then realized he was still holding the receiver and put it down.

Of one thing, he was absolutely sure.

This wasn’t just for questioning.

If he entered the station, he would never leave it a free man again.

* * *

When she arrived at the house, Win was surprised not to hear any music; but then, maybe Morse had decided to lie down for a bit, work through it all. “Morse” she called out, “Would you like some biscuits?”

Silence.

And then her stomach dropped.

Because this wasn’t the silence of someone sleeping or reading nearby.

This was the silence of an empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm evil.


	16. Which Prisoners Call The Sky

Win looked through every room in the house even though she knew she wouldn’t find Morse. What had happened? Had someone come and taken him away? No; he wouldn’t just have gone without a fight, certainly.

But then, he must have left of his own volition. Why? He’d seemed comfortable and confident when she had left. Had that just been an act – was he actually convinced there was nothing to be done and it would still be best for all if he left town?

No. No, she couldn’t believe him capable of such deception.

Something must have happened to make him leave.

She tried calling Fred, but he currently wasn’t at the station, and she knew none of his colleagues good enough to trust them with this.

Win took a deep breath. She’d just keep calling Fred and they’d come up with a plan.

* * *

Morse hadn’t seen the station since they had taken him to jail to await trial, and he’d hoped never to see it again.

But Lott had said he would make things difficult for DI Thursday, and he couldn’t allow that. They had been so good to him; how could he risk his benefactor’s career?

And so he went in.

* * *

The young woman at the reception desk smiled kindly at him, and he was reminded that he was wearing the Thursdays’ clothes, meaning he wasn’t obviously homeless anymore. He took a dep breath. “Good afternoon, WPC.”

“How can I help you, Mr. –“

“Morse. E. Morse. I am here because of the Mary Tremlett’s case. I want to make a statement.”

“Look at that. Mr. Morse back at the station. Always knew you’d end up here again eventually.”

He turned to face Lott.

* * *

It was bad luck, Jim would later think, that was what it was. He’d been on his beat, wondering how so much could have changed in less than a week as he passed Morse’s trailer, when he’d walked into the station; if he’d been present, he would have chased him off before anyone had even realized he was there.

But as it was, he returned to the station to find WPC Ford looking troubled. “What is it?”

“I – Jim, I think we might have a problem. Bloke came in, said he wanted to talk about the Mary Tremlett case. Lott whisked him away before I could get to him. I didn’t like the look on his face.”

And somehow, he knew.

* * *

Jim all but sprinted to the interrogation rooms, catching a few confused glances as he did so. Please, don’t let it ne too late.

Thankfully, there were no punches or groans to be heard when he knocked. “Come in.”

He entered and found Morse sitting in front of Lott, looking pale but determined. “I was wondering sir if you’d perhaps leak someone to sit in on –“

“No thank you Constable I can handle this on my own.”

He recognized it as a dismissal; this, however, would not do, and so he took a deep breath and said, I’ll be right outside then. Just in case you need anything.”

He wasn’t speaking to Lott; and he could see that Morse had understood. There was gratitude in his eyes he knew from the times he’d handed him a paper.

“Fine, fine, Constable” Lott said, clearly annoyed.

Thankfully, Ford was in the hallway when Strange came out. After all, he couldn’t be in two places at once; and there was something he had to do. “Could you stay here and…” he trailed off, unsure how to explain that he wanted to make sure Morse wasn’t used as a punching bag. Again.

She understood and nodded. “Don’t worry, Constable.”

And Jim took off.

He needed to find the Old Man.

Hadn’t he said he was going to talk to that woman again – what was her name – Stromming?

* * *

This was like pulling teeth, Fred decided. “Mrs. Stromming –“

“No, Inspector. I told you. My husband and I love each other.”

Not that it mattered, but Fred had known many a loving couple where one of them had eventually decided that they might as well have an affair. “Mrs. Stromming, he admitted to –“

“He admitted to knowing that girl, and he did try his best to educate her” she said firmly.

This was going nowhere.

* * *

Fred was surprised when he left the house only to find PC Strange hurrying towards him. “Sir” he gasped, “One of the lads drove me here. Morse’s at the station.”

His blood ran cold. “Did Lott –“

“He came in voluntarily. Something’s fishy about it.”

“Is there –“

“I put WPC Ford in the hallway to make sure nothing happens, but we need to hurry!”

* * *

At first, Morse was resigned; resigned that Lott would find a way to make him look guilty, and that would be that.

But during the course of the first few questions, he realized something.

Lott had underestimated him.

And he had underestimated himself.

All that time, believing that he couldn’t do this, that he wasn’t fit for human contact anymore, and that, should he veer go back to the interrogation room, he’d snap.

But he wasn’t the young college student Lott had ripped everything from. He had spent five long years in prison, growing up in a way that he wouldn’t if he had stayed at Lonsdale; against all odds, he’d learned to survive.

And he’d be damned if he’d hand him everything he needed on a silver plater again. Let him scream, let him threaten; let him get a few punches in if he felt like it.

Endeavour Morse would not confess.

* * *

Fred might have broken a few speed limits on his haste to get back to the station. He and Strange didn’t bother talking to anyone, instead they hurried to the interrogation rooms.

“All’s quiet, sir” WPC Ford reported immediately upon seeing them. “Although” she continued with a smile, “DS Lott sounds more and more frustrated, I am afraid, sir.”

Fred didn’t bother to knock. “Sergeant?”

Morse looked at him when he entered, and he was relieved to find something that had been missing before in his eyes: defiance.

“Sir” Lott said through gritted teeth, “You do remember the note in Mary Tremlett’s book?”

“Yes. So I suppose this is Mr. Morse?”

He immediately played along. “Don’t you want to introduce us, Sergeant?”

Lott’s face clearly showed that he didn’t believe a word, but could do nothing against it. “Mr. Morse, this is DI Thursday and PC Strange.”

He nodded at them, his face completely impassive. “I was just explaining to DS Lott that I have no idea how my name got into the young lady’s book. I didn’t know her. I don’t know many people these days.”

“Yes, since you got out of prison” Lott pointed out.

Morse shrugged. “I don’t deny it. What would be the use of that? I was innocent.”

“Of course, Mr. Morse. That’s what they all say.”

“Sergeant” Fred said, sitting down next to him and looking at Morse, doing his best to give the impression he was seeing him for the first time. “Now, Mr. Morse, why don’t we go through this step by step.”

And so they did.

Morse was calm, collected – in other words: the complete opposite of Lott, who grew more and more desperate as the time passed. “So what exactly are you saying?”

“I am saying that whoever wrote my name in the book wanted to frame me.”

“Are you suggesting that I –“

“I very much said whoever, Sergeant. I would never accuse anyone of unsavoury practices.”

That clever little bigger. Fred fought a smile.

* * *

Despite everything, in the end there was still Morse’s name in something that looked like Mary’s handwriting in her property, so he couldn’t manage to make Lott Morse go; but he saw him to the cell personally. “Now” he muttered, “Just stay calm. I promise we’ll have you out if here as quickly as possible.”

He looked at him and nodded and Fred registered, rather worried, that apparently the lad was spent.

Small wonder. It had taken a lot of courage to talk to Lott again like that.

* * *

Morse soon found that while he had _overestimated_ how bad it would be to be in one room with Lott again, he had _underestimated_ the affect it would have to hear a lock of a clue being closed on him once more. He swallowed and closed his eyes.

DI Thursday had promised they would get him out of here. He had to trust him.

He sat down on the bed and looked down at his hands with the stare he had practised for five long years.

* * *

Fred didn’t get far. He was just about to leave when a young PC told him there was a new witness.

He couldn’t have hoped for a better one.

* * *

Jim’s blood was boiling. How dare Lott put Morse back in the cell.

He must be going mad.

And then he had an idea.

He Old Man had stormed off immediately intent on cracking the case; and Jim thought, since they had Morse at their disposal, they might as well use him.

He quickly went to the evidence locker and took out what they had found next to Mary. It might have been against the rules but so, he decided, was framing people.

When he arrived at the cell, he saw immediately that it was bad. Morse’s eyes were closed, his hands in a praying position – although Jim would have been surprised if he’d still believed in anything at this point – and he was shaking.

“Morse” he said quietly.

His eyes snapped open. “Constable.”

“Here. I thought you might as well take a look at this.” He went into the cell passed him the box, leaving the door open behind him.

Morse breathed a sigh of relief, then he began to meticulously go through the contents.

He dwelled somewhat on Mary’s dress. “No offense Jim, but are you sure this was the dress Mary was wearing?”

“It was found next to the body” he said, deciding that Morse using his first name was a good sign. “Why?”

“I’ve seen pictures of Mary and she was… well, she wasn’t thin enough for this. It’s a 36C.”

“Blimey. But why would someone do this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“But if this dress doesn’t fit… What was she wearing? And why put another dress there in the first place?”

It was at this moment that DI Thursday stormed in. He seemed in no way surprised to find Jim there. “We have a witness who saw Mary alive on Sunday morning – twelve hours after you supposedly met! It’s impossible for you to have done it!”

To Jim’s bafflement, Morse tilted his head to the sight and seemed to carefully consider the information, as if he were a detective working the case. His eyes lingered on the dress, then wandered back over to them; although Jim couldn’t help the impression that he wasn’t really seeing them at all. “What if” he said finally, “It wasn’t Mary?”

“What do you mean? The witness is sure –“

“That may be, but what if it was a woman wearing this exact dress? Then there would have to be a depress found near the body, you see.”

The Old Man blinked, then slowly said, “If someone wanted to give the impression that Mary had still been alive… in order to have an alibi…”

“Exactly.”

“Well” he replied, “There is one woman in this whole affair who has quite the motive…”

Morse’s shoulder slumped. “I know” he said quietly.

DI Thursday reached out and squeezed his forearm. “Oy. If you’re right, it’s your ticket out of here.” He turned to Jim. “Constable, we need to speak to Rosalind Calloway…”

“Excuse me, DI Thursday?” WPC Ford stood in front of them. “Your wife has been calling…”

“Ah” DI Thursday said in the tones of a husband who had just become very ware that he had forgotten something and would get a good talking-to for it. “A minute, Constable. Morse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I know, I am just torturing Morse at this point lol


	17. And At Every Drifting Cloud That Went

"What do you mean, he is back in a cell!?” Win was as close to shouting as she ever came; in fact, Fred remembered only two times he had yelled at him, and that had been when she’d had Joan and Sam. “Fred –“

“I know, I know” he rushed out, “But I think he just solved the case. I’m on my way to intervbiew the person we think did it, and once we do, he’s free.”

“You better hurry… Five minutes is too long for him to be in jail again, I don’t want to imagine what half a day might do.”

He thought it best to end their talk quickly and get a move on after that.

* * *

Mrs. Stromming, as it turned out, had already left in order to give a charity concert. They went to the concert hall as fast as they could.

“You don’t have to worry, sir” Strange said, “Ford’s keeping an eye on things. No one’s going near his cell.”

Still – he’d rather have Morse out of any building that contained Lott as well sooner rather than later.

* * *

As they watched the performance, Fred wondered what Morse would have felt at this moment. After all, he worshipped her voice.

Still, there was nothing he could do about it.

Perhaps in respect to Morse, perhaps for some other reason, he still let her finish, then went up on the stage and gently touched her elbow. “Mrs. Stromming? We should be going.”

She looked at his face and knew that he knew.

* * *

When they brought her in, Lott happened to hang around the squat room. “Sir?” he asked, obviously confused.

“Mrs. Stromming is about to make a statement” he informed him just as she said, in the same moment, in the flat, emotionless voice of someone who had given up “I killed Mary Tremlett and Miles Percival.”

Lott blinked. “What –“

“Means we can let the other chap out, sir” Strange told him. “Morse, wasn’t it?=”

Fred wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, but his eyes were gleaming with mischief.

Lott glanced between him and Fred then carefully said, “I suppose you.”

“Alright then. I’ll see him out.” He looked back at Fred as he said so, ensuring that he knew this meant he’d see him back to his house.

“Thank you Constable” he said, then led Mrs. Stromming to the interrogation room.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Jim had never been happier walking down to the cells than he was at this very moment. Yes, a young girl and a young man had been killed; but at least they’d gotten Morse out.

He was still sitting in the same way he’d first seen him, and he wondered if that was how he had waited for his sentence to be over. “That’s it, then” he said, opening the door, “She’s arrested. She’s confessed.”

Morse stared at him, and for a second, Jim was scared. Not for his safety; no, he was sure that Morse would never try and hurt any of them; but it was clear that for a moment, he didn’t recognize him.

Then he shook his head and his eyes cleared. “I can go?”

Jim wondered where he’d just been. “Yes. Come on.”

Morse followed him out of the station in a daze and would actually have wandered off if Jim hadn’t grabbed him. “No. Here. Get in.”

He stirred him into the car. Small wonder he was shaken. In his place, Jim would have been, too.

He drove him to the Thursdays’ home, of course. He hardly thought the Old Man would have appreciated it if he’d let Morse back into his trailer.

Morse was quiet on the ride. Then, eventually, he said, “I didn’t think anyone would actually come for me.”

It was a statement of fact. Not an accusation, not an insult, just a statement of fact.

And then and there, Kim knew it had been a mistake to leave him alone after the inspector and him had gone off to find Mrs. Stromming. Reassurances, he instinctively felt, wouldn’t help.

But apparently Morse didn’t need any. “Thank you.”

”You don’t have to thank me” he replied immediately.

“Not just for today. You… thank you for everything”.

It sounded too much like a goodbye for Jim’s liking, so he didn’t answer.

When they arrived at the house, the door was thrown open before Morse had even had the time to get out of the car properly and Mrs. Thursday came hurrying out. “Morse, dear!”

And he was smothered in hugs.

Jim didn’t bother to hide his smile.

“You – oh my, I was so worried – but I knew Fred would fix everything – oh what you have been through!”

He managed to get in a “I’m fine, Win” but that didn’t satisfy her.

“Of course you’re not, but we’ll sort it out. Now, I’ll put the kettle on –“

And for some reason, Jim was swept up by the tidal wave of maternal care as well and ended up having tea in the Thursdays’ kitchen.

Morse was slowly returning to himself, thank God. “I – “ he eventually began. “I don’t remember much. After you’d left. It was the – the turning of the lock.”

Just a week ago, getting him to talk about how he was doing had been like pulling teeth.

Mrs. Thursday made a distressed noise and laid a hand on his arm. “I am so sorry.”

He shrugged. “There was nothing you could have done about it, Win; Lott –“

“No reason to say this man’s name out loud in my house” she said firmly, making Morse smile. “I’m sure Fred’s dealing with him as we speak.”

That reminded Jim. “I should be getting back.”

“Oh, why don’t you have another cuppa, Sergeant?”

“I’m still on duty” he pleaded with her.

“Oh, right, I’ll bring you to the door. No, Morse; I’d rather you stay seated.”

Morse bid him a polite and friendly farewell.

“Tell Fred not to worry, I’ll make sure he’s comfortable” she told him when she showed him out. “And Constable… thank you.”

* * *

Morse had spoken the truth. He still didn’t quite know to what place in his head he’d gnome when he’d heard the lock turn on him once more, and it scared him more than just a little.

But thankfully, Win returned just as he began to wonder about it anew. “Oh Morse” she breathed and hugged him gain. “I am _so_ glad you’re back with us.”

“Me too” he managed to say.

“Now” she said, drawing back and studying him, “How about you go to your and Sam’s room and have a bit of a lie-down? I bet it’d do you good.”

Contemplating that she had said _your and Sam’s room_ was, quite frankly, too much for him right now. “I think that’s a good idea” he said quietly.

As was her wont, she ran her fingers through his hair. “It’ll all be fine, Morse. You’ll see.”

* * *

Good God.

Fred stared at the body of Rosalind Calloway and wondered how things could have spiralled out of control like that.

She might have been a murderess, but that didn’t mean she’d deserved to end like this.

He walked out of the cell and took a deep breath. Awful as it was, there were other things he had to do. “Give word to DS Lott that I want to speak to him in my office, please” he told Strange, who’d just returned and let him know that all was well at home.

“Yes, sir.”

Lott knocked on his door ten minutes later, while Fred was finishing up the protocol of Mrs. Stromming’s statement. “You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

He got up from his desk and walked over to Lott, his blood boiling. “I’ve wanted to speak to you for quite some time, now. About certain things. Teddy Samuels, for example. Crisp won’t protect you anymore – I got the pictures back.”

Lott stared at him.

“But that” Fred continued, “I could have tolerated. A bent copper might not be the best thing to have in the station, but a few bribes here and there to look away from non-too-legal car sales… that’s one thing. What you did to Morse, what you tried to do to him again today, is quite another.”

“I felt certain you know him.”

“Who I know and don’t know is none of your concern. The point is – and believe me when I say this – that I am going to re-investigate Morse’s case. And I will prove that he’s innocent. No matter what it takes.”

Lott’s eyes hardened. “Whatever happens, you can’t prove anything against me, it’s just his statements –“

“And who are people going to believe once he’s been cleared? They are going to ask how Morse came to make a false confession, won’t they?”

Fred was bluffing slightly, as he was well aware; people were as likely to shrug and claim that there was no smoke without fire; but Lott didn’t need to know that.

“And trust me, especially once they hear what you did – and they will hear it, I will make sure of that – there will be little chance of you remaining in the force. So” he leaned close “I am giving you a choice, Lott. You can leave now without a scandal – or I go public.”

Really, it wasn’t nearly the threat he wanted to make, but there was little Fred could do about that.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would. We both know it.”

“And all that” Lott said bitterly, “for the sake of that young bastard?”

“Yes, I do like Morse” he conceded. “but also for the sake of the station. There is a right and a wrong, and I know which side I’m on. You lost that, Lott, and you stepped over the line. So get. Out.”

“I will think about it” Lott said in that petulant way of his, but there was a hint of panic in his voice that told Fred he would do exactly what he had told him.

When Lott turned to go without saying goodbye, Fred announced, “Oh, and one last thing.”

Once Lott was facing him again, he punched him in the face. “Now _that_ – that was for Morse’s sake.”

* * *

Win wasn’t surprised when she heard Morse scream; she had almost expected it. She rushed into Sam’s room to find him trashing on the bed. “Morse!”

He woke up, stared at her, then seemed to remember where he was. “Win” he breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be; you’ve more than enough reasons for nightmares” she gently said, stroking his sweaty forehead. At least he didn’t have a fever.

“It’s just – I – I was back in there” he shuddered and she could only pull him in her arms.

“I know, but you never will be again. Fred will make sure of it”. She rubbed his back. “We’ll figure it all out. Get you your own bed, first and foremost.”

He pulled back, looking surprised. “You want to get me a bed” he carefully said, and she realized he’d never thought his stay with them would become permanent.

“Well, you can have the couch if you insist, but I’m certain Sam won’t have anything against it if we put another one in here.”

And suddenly, the tear in his eyes had nothing to do with his nightmare anymore. “Don’t, dear” she said quietly as she wiped the few that escaped away with her thumbs. “Now, how about you wash up and then we have another cup of tea.”

He nodded, apparently lost for words.

He would get used to it. They had all the time in the world, now. She didn’t doubt that Fred was doing his best to rid the force of Lott at this very moment.

When Morse came downstairs a few minutes later, looking much calmer, she smiled at him and began making a list in her head what else he would need.

Proper-fitting clothes, for a start…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Win has decided that Morse is their third child now, and no, he doesn't get a vote.


	18. With Sails Of Silver By

Fred didn’t quite know what to expect when Crisp called him into his office. It soon became clear, however.

“DS Lott has informed me that he will be leaving the force” he told him.

“I see.” He didn’t pretend to be sorry for it. There would have been no point.

“The Mary Tremlett case is, of course, closed. It’s a shame we couldn’t put her on trial, but sometimes these things happen.”

Fred nodded, then took a deep breath. “Sir…”

“I know, I know” he interrupted him before he could say anything. “I might not have always been… my point is, I know what’s going on in my station. You are welcome to reinvestigate a certain case, if you wish to do so. I just don’t see how it’ll make a difference.”

No, he probably didn’t. He’d grown hardened and bitter under the blackmail, and now he didn’t think one simple case of any importance.

But it was. By God, it was. So Fred simply said “Thank you, sir” and left it at that.

* * *

He fervently hoped the lad was doing okay. Strange had said that he seemed rather shaken, and it was all too understandable. At least he was with Win now; she’d see him right.

This was going to be all rather complicated to explain to the children. It was difficult to believe everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

* * *

By the time Joan and Sam returned from work, Morse looked and sounded much better already, but Win still thought it prudent to catch them at the door and apprise them of what had taken place.

Joan stared at her. “he didn’t.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But –“ Sam, who’d just strolled in, gaped. “He – Morse – good God Mum, how is he?”

“Better now. He was something the worse for wear when Constable Strange brought him home” and only later would she realize she had referred to their house as such for Morse “but he’s listening to music and doing crosswords as we speak.”

“Wouldn’t allow him to set the table, right?”

“Young man, it’s nice to have someone offer, especially if they don’t have to.”

Sam grinned. “Understood. Gonna say hello to Morse, then do my housework.”

Joan followed him and Win smiled.

The children would do Morse some good, she was sure.

* * *

Morse was busy doing a crosswords when suddenly, the door to the living room opened and he was smothered in hugs once more; it took him a moment to realize this time they were Joan’s and not Win’s. Sam contended himself with clasping his shoulder. “Heard what happened. That must’ve been hard.”

“It was” he admitted, “But I’m out now.”

“You should never have been in!” Joan exclaimed, pulling back, her expression plainly showing she had inherited more from her mother than Morse had previously suspected. “Who does he think he is, juts locking up people left and right?”

“That’s the problem” he said simply, ”He thinks he has the right to do so.”

“_Thought_” Sam corrected him. “Pretty safe to say Dad’ll have done everything to disabuse him of this notion by now.”

He frowned; he didn’t want DI Thursday to get into trouble because of him.

“Oh don’t worry, Dad can take care of himself” Joan told him. “Come on Sam, we’re supposed to set the table, remember?”

“I can –“

“If you really think Mum would let you do this today, you’re in for a surprise. You just finish your crosswords.”

She really could sound remarkably like Win when she wanted.

* * *

Finally, all reports were written and the file was closed. Strange drove him home.

After a few minutes of silence he asked, “What do we do now, sir?”

“We try and reopen the case and see if we can catch the robber. Or at the very least prove that Morse didn’t do it. And then we get him rehabilitated.”

It sounded much easier than it would be, as Fred well knew. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was doing everything they could to make sure Morse got the justice that had been denied to him.

Strange hummed. “Old case, though. Won’t be easy to find evidence.”

“We’ll do what we can, Constable.”

“Of course, sir.” Another pause. Then, “Would you mind terribly if I came in for a minute, sir? I want to check on Morse, if it’s not inconvenient.”

Naturally. Strange had been the only one to care for Morse for months; he’d grown used to make sure he had everything he needed. It was too natural a wish to object to.

* * *

“Here we have – children, what did I tell you?”

“It was me, Win” Morse said, “I finished my crosswords.”

“And so you came to help! Of course you did. But you really didn’t have to, and I’d rather you sit down.”

Joan and Sam threw him amused glances as he complied.

“Fred should be here soon – a nice family meal is just what we need today. Oh Morse, you don’t have anything – I’ll get you a glass of water.”

And she hurried into the kitchen before he could stop her.

“You better let her” Joan told him. “She’s probably going to be in this mood for quite a while.”

And Morse, who had until a week ago only been reasonably content when he’d been in his trailer, locked away from everyone, who’d been utterly certain that he didn’t want or need any friends, who had firmly believed that there was nothing akin to human sympathy to be found in his breast, had to admit he didn’t mind one bit.

* * *

They got out of the car and went inside.

The first thing Fred heard was Morse’s laugh.

Thank God. He hadn’t noticed just how worried he’d been.

“Never did that when we were talking by his trailer” Strange observed.

Before he could answer, Win and the children emerged from the dining room. “Hi Dad. Oh, Constable Strange.”

Win immediate invited him to dinner, of course. “Come on in, Constable.”

Like all the other lads, he couldn’t say no to Win and entered the dining room. “Morse.”

“Hello, Jim.”

He looked a bit pale for Fred’s liking, but who wouldn’t have under the circumstances?”

“How are you?”

“Doing as well as can be expected, I think” he replied carefully. “Win won’t allow me to do anything.”

“Get used to it” Fred said.

“Joan told me that already.”

* * *

Really, Jim had fervently hoped that he’d find Morse somewhat calm, but this exceeded his expectations. Not only did he look happy, but healthy and quite content too; and that was more than he had ever thought was possible today.

Then again, he soon found that it was rather difficult to stay tense or stressed when eating with the Thursdays. Mrs Thursday _would_ give him second helpings; and Jim didn’t think anyone in the station would believe how much good-natured ribbing the Old Man took from his kids.

And then he wondered if the Thursdays were aware that by now, they were treating Morse very much like their own. Not that it mattered.

When it was time for him to go, Morse said, “let me –“

“Oh no Morse” Mrs. Thursday said immediately, “You stay seated. Fred, why don’t you get him a glass of brandy? Do him good, the day he’s had…”

And so it was DI Thursday herself who brought him to the door, thanking him unnecessarily for working the case and helping Morse.

Yes, Jim thought with a smile as he drove back to the station, no matter if they could in fact rehabilitate Morse or not, it seemed he’d found a permanent home.

* * *

Fred and Morse had their brandy in the living room, once Win had allowed the lad to get up after he’d sworn not to overexert himself. How he should have been able to do that by walking only a few paces, Fred couldn’t tell, but it was probably for the best not to contradict his Win tonight.

He sighed as he looked down into his glass. Morse was doing well, and he didn’t want him to think that Fred believed he had to keep secrets from him. He’d have to know eventually.

“There is something I have to tell you” he began slowly and deliberately. “It’s about Rosalind Calloway…”

* * *

He took the news better than Fred had hoped; thankfully, he had only seen Mrs. Stromming once, when they had escorted her to the cell she had then died in. He wouldn’t have wanted to know what would have happened if they had ever spoken.

“She was a great artist” Morse said softly.

“She used to be, perhaps” Fred said. “But she stopped being that when she decided to kill an innocent young girl.”

Morse swallowed, contemplated this, then nodded. “I still wish I could have done something, though.”

“You _did_ something. We would never have solved the case without you.” Fred highly doubted anyone of them would have made the connection between the crosswords and the meetings of Mary Tremlett and Stromming.

Morse sank into a reverie that Fred feared meant he was blaming himself for Mrs. Stromming’s death after all but then he began, “Win told me she wants to get me a bed.”

“Well, yes, that would probably be for the best, unless you want to camp on the sofa for the foreseeable future.”

It was only then that he realized that he’d always considered it certain that Morse would stay with them.

“I – “ he fell quiet for a few moments again, then said, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank us. Nothing any decent folk wouldn’t have done.”

Morse gave him a look that clearly suggested that he hardly believed any decent folk were still running around – probably because he’d spent five years in prison – but said nothing.

“What we’ve got to do now” Fred continued, “is try and get you rehabilitated. I’ve already got permission to re-investigate your case; me and Strange will be on it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You really – I know that it won’t be – it’s very unlikely. You don’t have to waste even more of your time on me.”

“None of any our time have been wasted on you, Morse. And this is not just about you – I mean, don’t get me wrong, I definitely want to see that conviction struck from your record – but it’s also about the principle of the thing. I can’t let this soil our station.”

Morse nodded. There was little to no hope in his eyes that he would actually one day _not_ be a felon anymore in the eyes of the world, but Fred wouldn’t have asked for there to be. The lad had suffered enough, had seen enough of his old hopes snuffed out. New ones could wait until he’d fulfilled his promise.

They drank in silence for a wall. Fred knew that Win thought Morse should have an early night, and agreed. The day must have been harrowing for him, despite apparently dealing fine with everything. But maybe he was still in shock; it was impossible to say. Well, they’d see in the following days, and no matter what happened, he swore to himself that they would take care of their young friend.

“Better leave you to it, then. Get some rest”.

Morse emptied his glass. “I’ll do my best. Sorry if I wake up anyone by screaming again –“

Win had told him about what had happened in the afternoon.

“Even if it happens” he told him, reaching out and squeezing his shoulder, “It’s only too understandable. Don’t worry about it.”

Morse still would, he well knew, but it couldn’t hurt top try. “And don’t hesitate to come knocking if you need anything.”

“I won’t.”

For the first time, Fred had the feeling that Morse actually meant that instead of just saying it to placate him.

“Alright then”. He gave his shoulder another squeeze. “Good night, Morse.”

He’d almost reached the door when he heard him quietly reply, “Good night, Fred.”

He smiled into the semi-darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wouldn't believe how pumped I was to have Morse finally call Fred by his first name XD. Last chapter tomorrow! Who's excited?


	19. I Walked With Other Souls In Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind comments (I know I am terrible at answering them, but still) and I really hope you enjoy the conclusion!

When Morse woke up the next morning, he needed a few moments to remember it all.

Him being back in a cell.

Rosalind Calloway being a murderess.

Lott being gone for good.

He knew DI – he knew Fred would have liked to see him in a cell too for everything he had done, and a small, vicious part of him would have enjoyed it; but in the end, what would it have changed? Nothing. No, Lott was gone, and that was enough because it had to be.

Especially because – because –

It seemed he had found a home.

The Thursdays certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get rid of him. Not when they were about to put a bed in Sam’s – in his and Sam’s room.

Despite everything he had been through in the last twenty-four hours, Morse smiled and went to put the kettle on.

* * *

“Good morning dear, how are you – oh you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to” he replied, having decided this was probably the safest approach to get Win to allow him to do things around the house.

“Well then – but I’m still making breakfast.”

Small victories, he told himself.

* * *

Fred went downstairs; Win was already up, as usual.

What surprised him was to hear both him and Morse’s voices. But the lad looked well-rested and happy enough when he entered the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, love.”

“Good morning, Fred.”

So last night hadn’t been an exception. That was just fine by him, really.

“What is that I hear?” Joan had come down after him. “So you actually managed it, Dad.”

“It was _my_ decision” Morse said quietly and Fred wondered for a moment if Joan knew just how important this was for him. All decisions had been taken away from six years ago, and now he was ready to make them again.

There was an understanding in Joan’s eyes that proved that she got it as well. “Good” she said decidedly. “Mum, can I have two eggs? I’m starving.”

Sam, who came down shortly afterwards, didn’t even comment when he heard Morse call him by his first name.

* * *

“I’ll take Morse shopping today” Win told him as she walked him to the door. “He needs nice clothes, for a change. Not hand-me-downs or what he wore when he came here.”

“He won’t accept anything too expensive” he answered.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it all figured out.”

If only, Fred thought, he’d have been able to say the same about Morse’s case already.

* * *

Morse’s file was still in his desk, and he got it out as soon as he’d arrived at the station. “Now, Constable…”

* * *

“But _Win_…”

“Young man, try this on. I am only telling you once.”

Fred had been right about one thing – Morse was determined that they shouldn’t spend more money on him than strictly necessary; but that wouldn’t stop her from doing what needed to be done.

“I am sure we can find –“

“We need to get you a bed too, sooner rather than later, so you better do as you’re told” she all but repeated her order and this time, it worked.

Alright. So hopefully, he’d soon have enough shirts. What else…

* * *

“So. Well-spoken robber, downright polite when it came to it” Fred said “That’s not much, but it’s something.”

Strange bit his lip, looking remarkably like the day he’d told him about Morse. “Sir, I know this sounds rather…”

“What is it, man?” he asked when he didn’t continue.

“I know this is… but well… if I had to guess, I’d say he sounds like Ronnie Tyler.”

“Ronnie Tyler?”

“Yes, sir. Honest Ronnie, they call him. Because he usually confesses once anyone asks if he’s done something. Chap’s known for being overly polite. Has even now and then cleaned up after he broke into a house. Hadn’t heard anything about him committing robbery, mind, but no one was hurt, were they? Last thing I know, he was sent to prison for another breaking-and-entering in March.”

Of course. Strange, who still walked the streets, knew the smaller felons of Oxford better than Fred did, these days.

But could it be that easy?

* * *

Ronnie Tyler, it soon transpired, was indeed nothing if not polite. “And how may I help you, Inspector?” he asked, as if they were sitting in his living room instead of having gone to see him in jail.

“Yes. Mr. Tyler this is about a robbery that was committed six years ago –“

“Oh. That business. Yes, Inspector?”

“What do you know about it?”

“What do you mean?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. The direct approach then. “Were you the one to commit the robbery?”

“But of course.”

That easy.

Six agonizing, terrible years for Morse, and in the end, it was that easy.

He took a deep breath. “And what about the man who was sent to prison for your crime?”

Honest Ronnie seemed genuinely shocked. “But – I didn’t know anything about that! I stay away from the news. If I had known…”

He trailed off, but the implication was clear. Weirdly enough, Fred found himself believing him.

* * *

There was something so… pitiful about it all, he reflected that night as he walked up to his house; Strange had offered to accompany him and break it all to Morse, but he’d declined. A senior officer had done him wrong, and a senior officer would explain it to him.

Ask around. All Lott would have had to do was _ask around_. But he hadn’t, because he’d been feeling cranky that day, or lazy, or because he had something against the gown, and Morse had paid a high prize for it.

Win knew immediately that something had happened when she came out of the living room to greet him. “Oh Fred. Is it bad?”

“Yes and no.”

She kissed him. “They are playing Scrabble. Wait till after dinner; Morse will have enough time to work his way through it.”

He nodded.

* * *

Morse naturally knew that something had happened as well.

As Fred poured them both brandy, he said quietly, “If there is nothing to be done, I understand.”

“No, no” he passed him his glass. “It’s the opposite, really.”

Morse blinked up at him, obviously confused.

He took a deep breath and began to speak.

* * *

By the time he was finished, Morse was pale and trembling. “And that was all?”

“Yes. For what it’s worth – Honest Ronnie told us he was really sorry for it all.”

“The robber. The robber wants to apologize to me. _The robber_.”

And to Fred’s dismay, he burst into laughter that sounded exactly like that day in the trailer. At least it didn’t end in a coughing fit this time.

“I am sorry” he said when he’d finished, wiping his eyes.

“Don’t. I know this isn’t…” Fred trailed off. It was a strange thing to say, for a policeman. He should have been delighted that the case had turned out to be that easy, but instead…

“At least you got him” Morse said earnestly.

“No. At least now we can set everything into motion to clear you” Fred said gently.

Morse started. “I – I hadn’t even thought of that.”

No, he probably hadn’t. He’d been resigned to life as a former convict.

Well, that wouldn’t do, now.

Fred wordlessly got up to pour them both another glass. They needed it.

* * *

Joan and Sam, of course, had quite the different reaction the next morning.

“Oh Morse, I’m so happy for you!” she exclaimed, kissing his cheek.

“Good for you, mate” he said at the same time, grasping his shoulder.

Morse apparently already knew them well enough to know they were genuinely happy for him.

* * *

A few weeks later, Fred was on his way to the bathroom when he heard laughter from Morse’s and Sam’s room.

He checked to find all three of them sitting on their respective beds – Joan next to Morse’s on his – chattering away. “Now, two of you have work in the morning.”

Joan rolled her eyes. “Come on Dad, Dev is just telling us about his college days.”

Dev? Well, the lad apparently had nothing against it, so Fred made no objecti0on and left them to it.

He went back to the bedroom with a smile on his face.

**Six months later**

By now, Jim had grown used to picking up the Old Man in the mornings.

And to some other things too.

Morse opened the door as usual. “Good morning, Jim. Come in.”

“Thank you. Good morning.”

Yes, the man who usually greeted him first when he arrived was quite a different bloke from the one he had met a little over a year ago, now. Then, he’d looked at him like a dear caught in headlights before doing his best to weasel his way out of the conversation and slink back to his trailer, intent upon hiding himself from the world.

_This_ Morse was wearing clothes that actually fit him, had filed out a bit and mot importantly, he was, as usual these days, smiling.

Jim followed him into the dining room.

“Ah, Jim” Mrs. Thursday said, “A cup of tea?”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“How often do I have to tell you, it’s Win.”

“Good luck with that” Joan said.

“Your mother succeeded with me” Morse reminded her, his eye sparkling in a playful manner.

“That’s because she immediate adopted you, Devy” Sam said.

Jim hadn’t heard that particular nickname before, but it made sense with how close they had grown.

“Ah. Constable.”

“Sir.”

DI Thursday nodded at him and went to serve himself. “Anything from the station?”

“Nothing.”

They were all pretending they weren’t waiting daily for news of Morse’s case. Now that the real culprit had confessed, Jim felt that it could only be a matter of time until he was finally cleared.

Jim sometimes wondered what he was going to do then. One thing was for certain, though – the Thursdays certainly didn’t want him out of the house, and if anything, Morse seemed to grow more comfortable here with each passing day.

* * *

“They’re taking their bloody time, aren’t they” DI Thursday told him in the car.

He didn’t have to elaborate who _they_ were.

“Yes” he replied simply.

“Dev is growing impatient. He’s not admitting to it, of course, but after all this time… of course he is.”

“Who wouldn’t be” Jim agreed.

* * *

“Dev? Do you have time for me?”

He carefully marked the page in his book and stood up. “Of course Win. Do you need help?”

“OI didn’t want to disturb you dear, but the sofa is so very heavy, and I wanted to hoover –“

Of course he moved immediately to help her.

“And day now, you know” she told him cheerfully, “and then you’ll be completely free to find any job you want!”

Of course she’d noticed that he was slowly developing a little cabin fever, especially with Fred, Joan and Sam leaving for work daily while he was stuck doing nothing.

“It’s not that I –“

“Oh I know that, don’t worry, dear. Have you decided what you want to do?”

He had indeed given it some thought but found himself reluctant to divulge the information without it being certain that his record had been cleared.

* * *

As it turned out, today was the day.

Fred almost couldn’t believe it when he got the call.

Dev was finally and completely free again.

His fingers itched; he wanted tom call home; but perhaps selfishly he decided to wait. He wanted to see the look on Dev’s face.

“Pint’s on me, Constable” he told Strange when they went for lunch. “Dev’s been cleared.”

Strange grinned. “That’s very good news, sir.”

* * *

They all guessed something had happened when they came out to greet him that night.

“What is it, Dad? You look like the cat who got the cream.”

“Nothing” he said simply. “Just like to see all you respectable and law-abiding citizens in front of me.”

The penny took a moment to drop, then Joan squealed and hugged Dev, who looked as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

He seemed, in fact, a little preoccupied all during dinner; not necessarily hysterical or angry; but a bit in shock.

“Well Devy” Sam eventually got him out if his reverie by asking, “And what do you plan to do now?”

He swallowed. “I – “ his eyes met Fred’s. “I have been thinking quite a lot about it, and I think with some practice, I could make an okay detective.”

“I disagree. You’ll be a bloody _great_ detective.”

And Dev smiled, looking the happiest chap in the world.

And finally, everything was as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts:  
1\. This was actually supposed to be a slow-burn, with Fred being way more suspicious of Morse in the beginning and then, well - the adoption happened. Oops. Also Win wouldn't allow it.  
2\. I really wondered whether I should make Morse's case more prominent, but then realized I actually enjoyed the tragedy of it being so easy more. Told you I'm evil.  
3\. Hope you all have a great day!

**Author's Note:**

> It's my birthday. Did I mention it's my birthday? Because it's totally my birthday. In other words - leave a comment, please? ^^


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